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Copyright N°_ 



copyright deposit. 



RECITATIONS FOR ASSEMBLY 
AND CLASS-ROOM 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



RECITATIONS 
FOR ASSEMBLY AND CLASS-ROOM 

WITH SUGGESTED PROGRAMS 



COMPILED AND ARRANGED 
BY 

ANNA T. LEE O'NEILL, M.A. 



Kefo gork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1909 

All rights reserved 



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Copyright, 1909, 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1909. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received { 

MAY 20 1909 

_ Ipopyriifnt Entry 
CLtfS? C^ XXc. No, 
COPY e». 



Norton 00 i^ress 

J. 8. Cushing- Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



FOREWORD 

I feel that there will be no difficulty in justifying this book to 
the teachers of the Public Schools, for whose use it is primarily 
designed. 

The recitation of short poems, or of passages from the longer 
ones of our great authors, is a customary part of the morning ex- 
ercises held in every public school in the country. As to the value 
of such recitations, cultural and otherwise, as a part of the uncon- 
scious teaching which is so important a factor in the education of 
a child, it is unnecessary for me to speak, since the fact that they 
are indorsed, if not made obligatory by the most prominent edu- 
cators, is sufficient proof of their value. 

The speakers are taken from all grades. On all teachers, there- 
fore, devolves the task of selection and preparation, — and only 
a teacher knows how burdensome so apparently trivial a duty 
may become. 

It necessitates the overlooking of a whole volume or volumes of 
an author's work in the hope of finding some poem or passage, 
remembered as suitable. After the remembered ones are ex- 
hausted, as, unless the teacher's bent chances to be literature, they 
are soon likely to be, the task becomes even more onerous, entail- 
ing most careful and discriminating reading on the part of one at 
best hard pressed for time. 

It is not surprising, therefore, if the selections are more than 
occasionally of dubious literary value and if threadbare, stock-in- 
trade pieces are made to do service again and again. Then, too, 
many poems and even prose passages, — of such exquisite 
beauty that unfamiliarity with them is a downright deprivation 



vi FOREWORD 

to the student, — are absolutely debarred on account of their 
length, yet a little judicious pruning would render them available. 
The copying of such selections means more work for the teacher, 
yet it is necessary, unless she prefer the bringing to school of her 
own books, to be handled and possibly mutilated by the children. 

So many teachers find it "a perfect nuisance," and so many 
requests were made to me by friends and acquaintances in the 
profession, whose interests lie in the direction of Mathematics, 
Music, or Drawing, rather than Literature, to furnish them with 
pieces ("My class has to recite in a few days and I don't know a 
thing to give"), and I, personally, have found it so irritating, the 
forgetting to look up until the last moment, the hasty selection, 
and then the listening to some pointless, inappropriate, or inferior 
poem, with the mortified consciousness of being responsible for it, 
— that the idea suggested itself, what an immense convenience a 
book of selections suitable for assembly recitations would be to 
teachers, as well as to students old enough to choose for themselves. 

The instinct for poetry, though often dormant, is entirely lack- 
ing in but few, and a particularly happy selection will sometimes 
kindle in more than one listener a desire for further reading of the 
author and lead ultimately to genuine love for Literature where none 
has been felt before. 

The endeavor has been to include in this compilation only 
selections of high literary value, to have them of suitable length, 
complete if possible, but always containing a complete thought, 
and always general in application and independent of the context. 
It has been the endeavor, too, to have them sufficiently numerous 
to make unnecessary the repetition to the point of weariness, and 
to have them suitable for both boys and girls in any grade of the 
Elementary and Secondary Schools. The teacher may, I think, 
feel free to make a selection almost at random and feel safe in so 
doing. 

Many reference books in themselves require so much research 
in the gleaning of what oftentimes is of real aid to them in their 



FOREWORD Vll 

work, that teachers have come to view them askance. I have tried 
to make this a " Convenience Book;" it is my sincere hope that 
teachers may find it one. 

The selections from H. W. Longfellow, T. B. Aldrich, John 
Burroughs, Alice Cary, Phcebe Cary, R. W. Emerson, O. W. 
Holmes, J. R. Lowell, Lucy Larcom, E. R. Sill, E. C. Stedman, 
Bayard Taylor, Celia Thaxter, J. G. Whittier, and F. D. Sherman 
are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, 
Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers. 

Thanks are due to Edwin Markham, Rudyard Kipling, and 
William Dean Howells for kind permission to use selections from 
their works; to Small, Maynard & Co. for selections from Bliss 
Carman; Charles Scribner's Sons for selections from Eugene 
Field, Sidney Lanier, Henry van Dyke, R. H. Stoddard, and 
H. Bunner; Whitaker & Ray Co. for selection from Joaquin 
Miller; Longmans, Green & Co. for selection from Andrew Lang; 
Little, Brown & Co. for poem by Helen Hunt Jackson ; Edgar S. 
Werner & Co. for poems by Nixon Waterman and J. A. Wolcott; 
trn Century Company for selection from John Kendrick Bangs; 
John Lane Co. for poem by Gabriel Setoun; and David McKay 
for "The Riddler," by Charles Godfrey Leland, from "Hans 
Breitmann's Ballads." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Drill m Enunciation i 

Ballads and Narrative Poems 
Lower Grammar 

A Tale — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .... 42 

Columbus — Joaquin Miller ...... 36 

Incident of the French Camp — Robert Browning . . 21 

Lochinvar — Sir Walter Scott 26 

Lucy Gray — William Wordsworth 45 

Marco Bozzaris — Fitz-Greene Halleck .... 40 

Upper Grammar and High School 

A Ballad of the Fleet — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . .11 
A Ballad of East and West — Rudyard Kipling . . .14 

Helen of Kirconnel — Scotch Ballad 23 

How They brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix — 

Robert Browning 19 

Parting of Douglas and Marmion — > Sir Walter Scott . . 42 
Robin Hood — English Ballad ...... 34 

Sir Patrick Spens — Scotch Ballad ..... 24 

The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire — Jean Ingelow 28 
The Inchcape Rock — Robert Southey . . . -37 

The King of Denmark's Ride — Caroline Elizabeth Norton . 18 
The Lamentation for Celin — Spanish Ballad 33 

The Lord of Butrago — Spanish Ballad . . . .31 

General Nature Poems 
Primary 

A Snow Song — Henry van Dyke ..... 70 

Falling Snow — Unknown 52 

November — -Alice Cary 73 

The Stars — Christina G. Rossetti 78 

Violets — /. Moultrie . .92 

White Butterflies — Algernon Charles Swinburne . . 78 
ix 



X CONTENTS 

Lower Grammar page 

A Boy's Song — James Hogg 86 

Autumn — Percy Bysshe Shelley 73 

A Vagabond Song — Bliss Carman 66 

Going a-Nutting — Edmund Clarence Stedman ... 75 

November, a Sonnet — William Cullen Bryant ... 59 

November — Thomas Hood 50 

Scythe Song — Andrew Lang 67 

Snow-bound (Selection) — John Greenleaf Whittier . . 82 

Storm Song — Bayard Taylor 57 

The Corn Song — John Greenleaf Whittier .... 71 

The Death of the Flowers — William Cullen Bryant . . 59 

The Flight of the Birds — Edmund Clarence Stedman . . 74 

The Nightingale and the Glowworm — William Cow per . 81 

The Sandpiper — Celia Thaxter 60 

The Swallow — Christina G. Rossetti . . . . -77 

The Tiger — William Blake 70 

Wind and Sea — Bayard Taylor 69 

Upper Grammar and High School 

A Snow-storm — John Burroughs 58 

Now came Still Evening On — John Milton 55 

Ode to the Northeast Wind — Charles Kingsley ... 50 

Ode to the West Wind — Percy Bysshe Shelley ... 65 

The Snow Storm — Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 80 

To the Nightingale — William Drummond . . . .100 

Winter — James Russell Lowell .... . . 76 

Ye Stars ! which are the Poetry of Heaven — George Gordon, 

Lord Byron 79 

Arbor Day 
Primary 

A Fable — The Mountain and the Squirrel — Ralph Waldo 

Emerson 329 

A Prayer — Edwin Markham 106 

All Things Bright and Beautiful — Mrs. Cecil Francis 

Alexander 291 

A Rule for Bird's Nesters — Old Rhyme . . . . 174 

Ariel's Song — William Shakespeare 294 

At Little Virgil's Window — Edwin Markham . . . 106 

Daisies — Frank Dempster Sherman 289 



CONTENTS 



XI 



Primary (continued) 

Don't kill the Birds — Daniel Clement Coles-worthy 

Early Spring — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Epitaph on a Robin-Redbreast — Samuel Rogers 

Flower in the Crannied Wall — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Forbearance — Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Guessing Song — Henry Johnstone 

He prayeth Best — Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

Hiawatha's Childhood — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Hiawatha's Sailing — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I know a Bank — William Shakespeare 

If ever I See — Lydia Maria Child 

Little Birdie — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Over in the Meadow — Olive A . Wadsworth 

Oxfordshire Children's May Song — Old Rhyme 

Robert of Lincoln — William Citllen Bryant 

Robin Redbreast — William Allingham 

Sing on, Blithe Bird — William Motherwell 

Stop, stop, Pretty Water — Eliza Lee Follen 

Sweet Peas — John Keats .... 

The Angler's Reveille — Henry van Dyke . 

The Ant and the Cricket — Unknown 

The Barefoot Boy — John Greenleaf Whittier 

The Brown Thrush — Lucy Larcom 

The Daffodils — Robert Herrick . 

The Dewdrop — Frank Dempster Sherman 

The Ivy — Charles Dickens 

The Months — Old Rhyme .... 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat — Edward Lear 

The Rhodora — Ralph Waldo Emerson 

The Throstle — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

The Tree — Bjomstjerne Bjornson 

The Violet — Jane Taylor .... 

The Wind — Robert Louis Stevenson 

The Wonderful World — William Brighty Rands 

There's Nothing Like the Rose — Christina G. Rossett 

These All Wait Upon Thee — Christina G. RosseHi 

We thank Thee — Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Who has seen the Wind ? — Christina G. Rossetti 

Who stole the Bird's Nest ? — Lydia Maria Child 



293 
96 

116 
88 

160 

5i 
321 

305 
3°7 
99 
104 
276 
272 
100 

3*9 
277 
105 

297 
93 
83 

177 

329 
301 

85 
267 

92 
101 

303 
90 

95 
302 

3°4 

268 

308 

92 

79 
186 
267 
287 



Xll CONTENTS 

Lower Grammar 

A Parable — James Russell Lowell . 

As a Violet's Gentle Eye — Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Consider — Christina G. Rossetti 

Hitchen May-day Song — Old Rhyme 

Infinite Depths — Edwin Markham 

It is not growing Like a Tree — Ben Jonson 

Now fades the Last Long Streak of Snow — Alfred, Lord 

Tennyson 

O Mickle is the Power — William Shakespeare . 

Rain in Summer — Henry Ward Beecher 

Song — Violet, Sweet Violet — James Russell Lowell . 

Spring — Thomas Carew 

The Eagle — ■ Alfred, Lord Tennyson .... 
The Elixir — George Herbert ..... 

The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz — Henry Wadsworth Long 

fellow 

The Gladness of Nature — William Cullen Bryant 

The Housekeeper — Charles and Mary Lamb 

The Humble-bee — Ralph Waldo Emerson 

The Influence of Nature — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

The Planting of the Apple-tree — William Cullen Bryant 

The Riddler — Charles Godfrey Leland 

The Sigh of Silence — John Keats 

The Skylark — James Hogg .... 

The Spacious Firmament — Joseph Addison 

The White-footed Deer — William Cullen Bryant 

The Year's at the Spring — Robert Browning 

There is a Pleasure — George Gordon, Lord Byron 

There rolls the Deep — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . 

To a Butterfly — William Wordsworth 

To a Dandelion — James Russell Lowell 

To a Waterfowl — William Cullen Bryant . 

To the Fringed Gentian — William Cullen Bryant 

Under the Greenwood Tree — William Shakespeare 

Woodman, spare That Tree — George P. Morris 

Upper Grammar and High School 

A Forest Hymn — William Cullen Bryant .... 399 

Adam and Eve's Morning Hymn — John Milton . . 146 

Apostrophe to the Ocean — George Gordon, Lord Byron . 64 



CONTENTS 



Xlll 



Upper Grammar and High School {continued) 
Field Flowers — Thomas Campbell 
I care not, Fortune — James Thomson 
I wandered Lonely as a Cloud — William Wordsworth 
In the Summer Time — George Wither 
My Heart leaps Up — William Wordsworth 
On May Morning — John Milton 
On the Grasshopper and Cricket — John Keats . 
See What a Lovely Shell — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
Tempest on Lake Leman — George Gordon, Lord Byron 
The Brook — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . 
The Chambered Nautilus — Oliver Wendell Holmes 
The Education of Nature — William Wordsworth 
The Field Fraternity — Edwin Markham 
The Forest — Henry D. Thoreau 
The Sensitive Plant — Percy Bysshe Shelley 
The Skylark — Percy Bysshe Shelley . 
"Thou art, O God" — Thomas Moore 
To a Cloud — Percy Bysshe Shelley 
To a Water Bird — Lord Thurlow 
To the Grasshopper and the Cricket — Leigh Hunt 
What is so Rare as a Day in June? — James Russell Lowell 



94 
90 

388 
98 

386 
54 
68 
61 
62 

386 

384 
228 

9i 
96 
84 
395 
i43 
48 

55 
103 
407 



Child Fancies 
Primary 

A Thanksgiving Fable — Olive Herford 
An Epitaph on a Robin-Redbreast — Samuel Rogers . 
Before the Fire — Robert Louis Stevenson 
Foreign Children — Robert Louis Stevenson 
Good Night and Good Morning — Lord Houghton {Richard 
Monckton Milnes) ...... 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief — ■ Sir Walter Scott 

Queen Mab — Thomas Hood 

Romance — Gabriel Setoun 

The Boy and the Sheep — Ann Taylor 

The Lamplighter — Robert Louis Stevenson 

The Little Elf-man — John Kendrick Bangs 

The Lost Doll — Charles Kingsley .... 

The Unseen Playmate — Robert Louis Stevenson 

Where go the Boats ? — Robert Louis Stevenson . 



123 
116 
122 
124 

112 
120 
118 
107 
122 
121 
123 
116 
120 
"3 



XIV CONTENTS 

Lower Grammar page 

One, Two, Three — Henry Cuyler Bunner . . . 108 

no 
in 
114 
117 



Seven Times Two — Jean Ingelow 
The Culprit Fay — Joseph Rodman Drake 
The Riddler — Charles Godfrey Leland 
The Two Dolls — Unknown 



Humorous 

Upper Grammar and High School 

The Old Navy — Frederick Marryat 126 

The Walrus and the Carpenter — Lewis Carroll . .130 



Lower Grammar 

A Thanksgiving Fable — Olive Herford 

An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog — Oliver Goldsmith 

Johnny's History Lesson — Nixon Waterman 

Kindness to Animals — Joseph Ashby-Sterry 

Our Christmas — Julia Anna Wolcott 

Something to be Thankful For — Clara J. Denton 



123 
127 
129 
127 
188 
i8 5 



Religious and Ethical Selections 
Primary 

A Child's Prayer — M. Betham Edwards .... 147 
A Child's Thought of God — Elizabeth Barrett Browning . 141 

A Farewell — Charles Kingsley 181 

A Rule for Bird's Nesters — Old Rhyme . . . . 174 

Be Useful — George Herbert 169 

Fairy Song — John Keats 164 

Forbearance — Ralph Waldo Emerson 160 

If All the Skies — Henry van Dyke 171 

Knowledge and Wisdom — William Cowper . . .148 

Memory of Good Deeds — Edwin Mar kham . . .168 

Obedience — Phoebe Cary 151 

Rest — J ohann Wolfgang von Goethe 157 

Selfishness — William Cowper 179 

Service — William Wordsworth . . . . . .177 

The Ant and the Cricket — Unknown . . . .177 

The Law of the Jungle — Rudyard Kipling . . -150 

The Pilgrim — John Bunyan 167 

The Rainy Day — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . .168 



CONTENTS 



XV 



Primary {continued) PAGE 

The Shepherd Boy sings in the Valley of Humiliation — John 

Bunyan . . . . . . . . .176 

We thank Thee — Ralph Waldo Emerson . . . .186 



Lower Grammar 

A Creed — Edwin Markham .... 

A Parable — James Russell Lowell 

As a Violet's Gentle Eye — Percy Bysshe Shelley 

At Morning — Robert Louis Stevenson 

Cheerfulness — ■ Thomas Carlyle . 

Consider — Christina G. Rossetti 

Economy — Samuel Johnson 

Hitchen May-day Song — Old English 

111 fares the Land — Oliver Goldsmith 

Infinite Depths — Edwin Markham 

Man is His Own Star — Francis Beaumont 

Maxims of Baloo — Rudyard Kipling 

Reputation — William Shakespeare 

The Elixir — George Herbert 

The Fall of the Curtain — William Makepeace Thackeray 

The Housekeeper — Charles and Mary Lamb 

Then gently Scan — Robert Burns 

Things that Never Die — Charles Dickens . 

Virtue — George Herbert .... 

Work — James Russell Lowell 



140 

154 
169 

134 
164 
144 

157 
180 
167 
141 
157 
156 
158 
134 
182 
172 

165 
161 
176 
157 



Upper Grammar and High School 

A Consolation — William Shakespeare . . . -171 

Actions — Charles Caleb Colton . . . . . .178 

Adam and Eve's Morning Hymn — John Milton . . 146 

Aims in Life — Thomas Carlyle . . . . . . 153 

All Service ranks the Same with God — Robert Browning . 162 

Argument — Joseph Addison . . . . . .163 

Carcassonne — Gustave Nadaud . . . . . . 173 

Content — Thomas Dekker ....... 148 

Cowards — William Shakespeare . . . . .152 

Crossing the Bar — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 139 

Day — Robert Browning . . . . . . .172 

"If To Do were as Easy" — William Shakespeare . .151 



XVI 



CONTENTS 



Upper Grammar and High School (continued) page 

Light shining out of Darkness — William Cowper . . 142 
"Man who Man would Be" — Percy Bysshe Shelley . .170 
"O yet We Trust" — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 144 
Ozymandias of Egypt — Percy Bysshe Shelley . . .160 
Prayer — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . . . .155 

Procrastination — Edward Young . . . . . 177 

Prospice — Robert Browning . . . . . .139 

Psalm I — John Milton 135 

Rebecca's Hymn — Sir Walter Scott ..... 145 

Recessional — Rudyard Kipling 135 

Strong Son of God — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 137 
Sweet are the Uses of Adversity — William Shakespeare . 162 

The Choir Invisible — George Eliot 158 

The Cynic — Henry Ward Beecher . . . . . 153 

The Honest Heart — Robert Burns . . . . .165 

The Pleasure of Hope — Thomas Campbell . . . .159 

The Society of Good Books — John Ruskin . . . 175 

"There is a Tide" — William Shakespeare . . .152 

Therefore doth Heaven Divide — William Shakespeare . . 179 
"Thou Art, O God" — Thomas Moore . . . .143 

Thoughts for a Young Man — Horace Mann . . .170 
Time — Sir Walter Scott . . . . . . .163 

"'Tis a Common Proof" — William Shakespeare . .152 

Waiting — John Burroughs ...... 149 

When All Thy Mercies — Joseph Addison .... 138 

Work — Thomas Carlyle .155 



Poems for Occasions 
Thanksgiving 

Giving Thanks — Unknown . , . . . .184 

Landing of the Pilgrims — Felicia Hemans . . . 331 

Something to be Thankful For — Clara J. Denton . .185 
Thanksgiving — William Dean Howells . . . .186 
Thanksgiving Day — Lydia Maria Child .... 209 
Thanksgiving Fable — Olive H erf or d . . . . 123 

The Corn Song — John Greenleaf Whittier . . . 71 

The First Thanksgiving Day — Alice Williams Brotherton . 183 

The Pilgrims — Wendell Phillips 185 

We thank Thee— Ralph Waldo Emerson . . . .186 



CONTENTS XVli 

Christmas (continued) page 

A Christmas Carol — Charles Dickens . . . .258 

A Visit from St. Nicholas — Clement Moore . . .311 

Old Christmas — Mary Howitt 193 

Old Christmas Returned — Old Carol . . . .187 

Our Christmas — Julia Anna Wolcott .... 188 

Santa Claus — Unknown 191 

The Christmas Holly — Eliza Cook 192 

The Christmas Trees — Mary F. Butts .... 190 

Lincoln's Birthday 

Abraham Lincoln — Richard H. Stoddard . . . .197 

Abraham Lincoln (Short Tributes to) . . . . . 196 

An Anecdote of Lincoln 197 

Commemoration Ode (Part VI) — James Russell Lowell . 401 

Gettysburg Address 406 

Liberty and Union — Daniel Webster . . . . • 395 

Lincoln, the Man of the People — Edwin Markham . . 195 

O Captain ! My Captain ! — Walt Whitman . . . 194 
See also selections under " Memorial Day" and "General 
Patriotic Selections." 

Washington's Birthday 

Benjamin Franklin's Toast 200 

Conciliation with America — Edmund Burke . . . 203 

Concord Hymn — Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 389 

Farewell Address — George Washington .... 203 

First Bunker Hill Oration — Daniel Webster . . 392, 393 

Old Ironsides — Oliver Wendell Holmes .... 362 

On the American Revolution — William Pitt t First Earl of 

Chatham ......... 200 

Song of Marion's Men — William Cullen Bryant . 357 

The Necessity of War — Patrick Henry .... 205 

Warren's Address — John Pier pont . . . . .391 

Washington — Baron d'Estournelles de Constant . . . 202 

Washington (Tributes by Great Men) .... 198 

Arbor Day. See " General Nature Poems." 

Memorial Day 

Barbara Frietchie — John Greenleaf Whittier . . . 345 

Hallowed Ground — Thomas Campbell .... 209 

How sleep the Brave — William Collins .... 208 



XV111 



CONTENTS 



Memorial Day (continued) 

Kearny at Seven Pines — Edmund Clarence Stedman 

Sheridan's Ride — Thomas Buchanan Read 

Soldier, Rest — Sir Walter Scott . 

The Bivouac of the Dead — Theodore O'Hara 

The Blue and the Gray — Francis Miles Finch 

The Close of the War — John Hay 

True Grandeur of Nations — Charles Sumner 

Two Veterans — Walt Whitman . 

When Banners are Waving — Unknown 

See also selections under "Lincoln's Birthday" and "Gen- 
eral Patriotic Selections." 

General Patriotic Selections 

Breathes there the Man — Sir Walter Scott . 

Civic Duties — Grover Cleveland . 

Dear Land of All My Love — Sidney Lanier 

Inaugural Address — Theodore Roosevelt 

Inaugural Address — Thomas Jefferson 

Love of Country — Unknown 

On the Castle of Chillon — George Gordon, Lord Byron 

Stand by the Flag — John Nichols Wilder . 

Stanzas on Freedom — James Russell Lowell 

The American Flag — Henry Ward Beecher 

The American Flag — Joseph Rodman Drake 

The Flag — /. C. F. Schiller .... 

The Ship of State — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

What constitutes a State ? — Sir William Jones . 



PAGE 

207 

355 
210 
213 

365 
211 
209 
206 
211 



365 
221 
216 
219 
220 
218 

215 
216 
217 
214 
412 
219 

383 
222 



Miscellaneous 
Primary 

A Farewell — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 243 

Etude Realiste — Algernon Charles Swinburne . . . 230 
Our Mother Tongue — Lord Houghton {Richard Monckton 

Milnes) 234 

Three Bugs — Alice Cary 224 

Lower Grammar 

Blow, blow, Thou Winter Wind — William Shakespeare . 240 

Break, Break, Break — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 244 

Love will find out the Way — Old English .... 246 

Music — William Shakespeare 234 



CONTENTS 



XIX 



Lower Grammar (continued) page 

Old Song — Edward Fitzgerald ...... 248 

Pleasures — Robert Burns . 236 

Poor Dog Tray — Thomas Campbell 245 

"Ships that pass in the Night" — Henry Wadsworth Long- 
fellow 243 

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls — Thomas Moore 246 

To gild Refined Gold — William Shakespeare . . . 236 

Upper Grammar and High School 

Come, Seeling Night — William Shakespeare . . .237 
Endymion (Selection) — John Keats ..... 230 

How Sweet the Moonlight — William Shakespeare . . 238 
I love My Jean — Robert Burns ...... 225 

King Henry's Address to His Soldiers — William Shakespeare 236 
L'Envoi — Rudyard Kipling ...... 249 

Melrose Abbey — Sir Walter Scott . . . . . 235 

Night and Death — Joseph Blanco While .... 242 

Ode — Arthur O' Shaughnessy ...... xxv 

Ode on Intimations of Immortality (Selection) — William 

Wordsworth . . -233 

"Our Revels now are Ended" — William Shakespeare . 250 

Prelude to Evangeline — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 242 
Ruth — Thomas Hood . . . . . . .226 

The Education of Nature — William Wordsworth . .228 

The Man with the Hoe — Edwin Markham . . .232 

The Patriot — Robert Browning . . . . . .247 

The Princess (Selection) — Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . 223 
The Seven Ages of Man — William Shakespeare . . . 239 
The Solitary Reaper — William Wordsworth . . .227 
To-morrow and To-morrow — William Shakespeare . . 238 
To Night — Percy Bysshe Shelley 241 

Dialogues 

A Christmas Carol — Charles Dickens ..... 258 

Apollyon and Christian (Pilgrim's Progress) — John Bunyan 264 
Franklin and the Gout — Benjamin Franklin . . .256 
Quarrel between Brutus and Cassius (Julius Caesar) — Wil- 
liam Shakespeare ........ 260 

Sohrab and Rustum (Selection I) — Matthew Arnold . . 251 

Sohrab and Rustum (Selection II) — Matthew Arnold . . 253 

Sohrab and Rustum (Selection HI) — Matthew Arnold . 254 



XX 



CONTENTS 



Selections for Memorizing prescribed by the New York City 
Course of Study 

Grade i A page 

Boats sail on the Rivers — Christina G. Rossetti 
I like Little Pussy — Jane Taylor 
Mother Goose Rhymes 

Baa ! Baa ! Black Sheep ! 

Humpty Dumpty . 

Little Bo-Peep 

Little Boy Blue 

Little Jack Horner 

Mistress Mary 

Rock-a-by, Baby, on the Tree Top 

Rock-a-by, Baby, Thy Cradle is Green 

This Little Pig went to Market . 
Rain — Robert Louis Stevenson 
Sleep, Baby, Sleep — German Lullaby . 
The Dewdrop — Frank Dempster Sherman 
The Wind — Robert Louis Stevenson 
Who has seen the Wind ? — Christina G. Rossetti 



Grade i B 

Golden Rule 

Hush ! the Waves are rolling In — Gaelic Lullaby 
Mother Goose Jingles 

As I went through the Garden Gap 

I Have a Little Sister . 

I saw a Ship a-Sailing . 

Little Nancy Etticoat 

Peter Piper . 

Sing a Song of Sixpence 

The House that Jack Built 

Thirty White Horses 
Little Birdie — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
Nonsense Alphabet — Edward Lear 
Over in the Meadow — Olive A. Wadsworth 
Robin Redbreast — William Allingham 
The Baby — George Macdonald . 
Twinkle, twinkle, Little Star — Jam Taylor 



CONTENTS 



xxi 



Grade 2 A 

All Things Bright and Beautiful — Mrs. Cecil Francis Alex 

ander 

Bed in Summer — Robert Louis Stevenson 

Daisies — Frank Dempster Sherman 

Proverbs, Maxims, and Brief Quotations 

Seven Times One — Jean Ingelow 

The Rock-a-by Lady — Eugene Field . 

The Swing — Robert Louis Stevenson . 

Who stole the Bird's Nest ? — Lydia Maria Child 

Grade 2 B 

A Dutch Lullaby — Eugene Field .... 

Ariel's Song — William Shakespeare .... 

Don't kill the Birds — Daniel Clement Colesworthy 

Lady Moon — Lord Houghton {Richard Mo nekton Milnes) 

My Shadow — Robert Louis Stevenson .... 

Proverbs, Maxims, and Brief Quotations 

Stop, stop, Pretty Water — Eliza Lee Follen 

Thanksgiving Day — Lydia Maria Child 

The Land of Story Books — Robert Louis Stevenson 

Windy Nights — Robert Louis Stevenson 

Grade 3 A 

Hiawatha's Childhood — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Hiawatha's Sailing — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I live for Those who love Me — G. Linnceus Banks 

Proverbs, Maxims, and Brief Quotations 

The Brown Thrush — Lucy Larcom .... 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat — Edward Lear 

The Tree — ■ Bjornstjerne Bjornson .... 

The Violet — Jane Taylor . 

Wishing — William Allingham ..... 



Grade 3 B 

A Visit from St. Nicholas — Clement C. Moore 
Marjorie's Almanac — Thomas Bailey Aldrich 
Proverbs, Maxims, and Brief Quotations 
Sweet and Low — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
The Captain's Daughter — James T. Fields . 
The Owl — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
The Wonderful World — William Brighty Rands 



291 
287 
289 
418 
290 
291 
286 
287 



295 
294 

293 
297 
294 
418 
297 
299 
298 
296 



305 
307 
300 
418 
301 

303 
302 

304 

303 



3ii 
3°9 
418 

3i4 
3*3 
3 I 3 
308 



XXII 



CONTENTS 



Grade 4 A 

"He prayeth Best" — Samuel Taylor Coleridge . 
Jack Frost — Hannah Gould .... 
Robert of Lincoln — William Cullen Bryant 
The Children's Hour — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
The Night Wind — Eugene Field .... 
The Wreck of the Hesperus — Henry Wadsworth Long 
fellow 

Grade 4 B 

A Fable — Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 

September — Helen Hunt Jackson .... 
The Barefoot Boy — John Greenleaf Whittier 
The Fountain — James Russell Lowell .... 
The Village Blacksmith — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



321 
3i8 
3*9 
3i7 
3i5 

322 



3 2 9 
326 

3 2 9 
325 
327 



Grade 5 A 

A Sea Dirge — William Shakespeare 335 

Excelsior — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . . -337 

Song — Under the Greenwood Tree — William Shakespeare 334 

The Arrow and the Song — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 339 

The Day is Done — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . 333 

The Gladness of Nature — William Cullen Bryant . . 336 

The Landing of the Pilgrims — Felicia Dorothea Hemans . 331 

Woodman, spare That Tree ! — George P. Morris . . 335 

Grade 5 B 

Aladdin — James Russell Lowell 340 

Barbara Frietchie — John Greenleaf Whittier . . . 345 

Psalm of Life — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . . 341 

The Planting of the Apple-tree — William Cullen Bryant . 343 

The World wants Men — Anonymous 339 

To-day — Thomas Carlyle . 348 

To the Fringed Gentian — William Cullen Bryant . . 342 



Grade 6 A 

A Man's a Man for a' That — Robert Burns 
Abou Ben Adhem — Leigh Hunt 
Nobility — Alice Cary .... 

Orpheus with His Lute — William Shakespeare 
Sheridan's Ride — Thomas Buchanan Read 
Song of Marion's Men — William Cullen Bryant 



35° 
352 
354 
348 
355 
357 



CONTENTS 



XX111 



Grade 6 A (continued) 

The Destruction of Sennacherib — George Cordon, Lord 
Byron ........ 

The First Snowfall — James Russell Lowell . 
The Minstrel-boy — Thomas Moore 

Grade 6 B 

"Breathes there the Man" — Sir Walter Scott 
Old Ironsides — Oliver Wendell Holmes 
One by One — Adelaide Procter .... 
The Blue and the Gray — Francis Miles Finch . 
The Builders — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 
The Burial of Sir John Moore — Charles Wolfe . 
The Spacious Firmament — Joseph Addison 
The White-footed Deer — William Cullen Bryant 

Grade 7 A 

Bannockburn — Robert Burns .... 

Daybreak — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 
It is not growing Like a Tree — Ben Jonson 
The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz — * Henry Wadsworth 
fellow ........ 

The Year's at the Spring — Robert Browning 
To a Waterfowl — William Cullen Bryant . 



Long- 



349 
352 
35i 

365 
362 

3(>3 
365 
361 
360 
359 
367 



374 

373 
372 

37o 
372 
37i 



Grade 7 B 

Farewell, a Long Farewell to All My Greatness — William 

Shakespeare . . . . . . . . -379 

Good Name in Man and Woman — William Shakespeare . 379 

Hohenlinden — Thomas Campbell ..... 378 

Thanatopsis — William Cullen Bryant . . . • 375 

The Battle of Waterloo — George Gordon, Lord Byron . 381 

The Bugle Song — Alfred, Lord Tennyson .... 380 

The Charge of the Light Brigade — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 376 

Grade 8 A 

Concord Hymn — Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 389 

First Bunker Hill Oration — Daniel Webster . . 392, 393 

I wandered Lonely as a Cloud — William Wordsworth . 388 

Mercy — William Shakespeare ...... 384 

My Heart leaps Up — William Wordsworth . . . 386 

Opportunity — Edward Rowland Sill ..... 390 



XXIV 



CONTENTS 



Grade 8 A (continued) page 

Polonius' Advice to His Son — William Shakespeare . . 394 

Sound the Loud Timbrel — Thomas Moore . . . 388 

The Brook — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 386 

The Chambered Nautilus — Oliver Wendell Holmes . . 384 

The Ship of State — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . 383 

Warren's Address — John Pierpont 391 

Grade 8 B 

A Forest Hymn — William Cullen Bryant .... 399 

Commemoration Ode (Part VI) — James Russell Lowell . 401 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard — Thomas Gray . 397 

Gradatim, the Way to Heaven — /. G. Holland . . . 404 

Liberty and Union — Daniel Webster 395 

On His Blindness — John Milton 403 

Sandalphon — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . . 405 
Speech at the Dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettys- 
burg — Abraham Lincoln 406 

The Skylark — Percy Bysshe Shelley 395 

"This was the Noblest Roman of Them All" — William 

Shakespeare . 406 

"What is so Rare as a Day in June ? " — James Russell Lowell 407 

For All Grades 

America — Samuel Francis Smith 410 

Battle Hymn of the Republic — Julia Ward Howe . .415 

Hail, Columbia 1 — Joseph Hopkinson 414 

Home, Sweet Home — John Howard Payne . . .416 

The American Flag — Joseph Rodman Drake . . .412 
The Star-spangled Banner — Francis Scott Key . . .411 



Suggested Programs for Closing Exercises 

Boys' Schools 43 1 

Girls' Schools 43 1 

Mixed Schools 43 2 

Proverbs, Maxims, and Brief Quotations 418 

Index by Authors 435 



ODE 

We are the music makers, 

And we are the dreamers of dreams, 
Wandering by lone sea-breakers, 

And sitting by desolate streams ; — 
World-losers and world-forsakers, 

On whom the pale moon gleams : 
Yet we are the movers and shakers 

Of the world forever, it seems. 

With wonderful deathless ditties 

We build up the world's great cities, 
And out of a fabulous story 

We fashion an empire's glory: 
One man with a dream, at pleasure, 

Shall go forth and conquer a crown: 
And three with a new song's measure 

Can trample a kingdom down. 

We, in the ages lying 

In the buried past of the earth, 
Built Nineveh with our sighing, 

And Babel itself in our mirth; 
And o'erthrew them with prophesying 

To the old of the new world's worth; 
For each age is a dream that is dying, 

Or one that is coming to birth. 

— Arthur O'Shaughnessy. 



RECITATIONS FOR ASSEMBLY 
AND CLASS-ROOM 

PART I 

DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 

"One duty lies on old and young, — 
With filial piety to guard 
The glory of the English tongue." 

The purity and adequateness of our language would seem to be 
endangered, partly because of our cosmopolitan population, partly 
because of a growing carelessness in speech on the part of people 
at large. Conversation is often so slovenly as to be unrecognizable 
when written down exactly as spoken. /, e, and u are inter- 
changed bewilderingly, /, d, and g are jumped over in the haste to 
arrive, and such is the seeming antipathy to r and h, that they 
are coming to be lost sounds in the language. 

Slovenliness is intolerable in any business and certainly should 
be in conversation, so essential a part of all business, and of the 
daily life. Then, too, it gives rise to much confusion of thought, 
especially in the minds of children, who often puzzle vainly over 
some unintelligible jargon one of their elders has used. Here is 
an illustration which any one searching the memories of childhood 
can doubtless parallel : A grown-up who had helped a little boy 
to prepare his recitation of Casablanca was astounded to hear 
him recite "Wen sallbuttim adfled;" on asking him "What is 
Sallbuttim?" (Whence all but him) the child replied, "I 
dunno. The captain, I s'pose ! " 

B I 



2 DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 

It is this same careless enunciation that causes one man inva- 
riably to write "quite" for "quiet," and another — both college 
graduates — to write "would of" instead of "would have." This 
is due to no lack of care in the teaching of reading, but it is often 
the case that the person whose reading is fairly accurate is grossly 
careless in conversation. 

No amount of calling attention to such a habit wall suffice to 
overcome it. Speech is mechanical in its processes and only drill 
on slurred words can effect the desired result. Material for such 
drills this book aims to supply. The words and expressions were 
jotted down when heard sufficiently often to indicate that their 
careless enunciation was prevalent, and they have been roughly 
grouped. The diacritical marks used are those of Webster's 
Dictionary. These words, and combinations of words, drilled 
on as is the multiplication table, and supplementing the phonic 
drills forming a part of most reading lessons, cannot but make 
for the betterment of our speech and the improvement of spelling 
and dictation lessons in the schools. 

T, d, w, I, are correctly formed by the tip of the tongue acting 
against the upper gum; but in "thick" speech the tongue acts 
against the teeth. The tongue should never touch the lower 
teeth in speech. 

P, b, m, should vibrate on the tongue. 

G, k, y, should be formed with the tip of the tongue raised and 
the tongue thickened until the sides can be caught between the teeth. 

All tones should be w T ell forward, none back of the middle of the 
arch of the mouth. 

Words should be pronounced nimbly and carefully, but not 
pedantically. 

Drill on the pronunciation of the prepositions: 
of — ov (not, u) 
days of danger (not, daza tide of song 

danger) full of glee 

stars of glory back of the house 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 



tops of the trees 
heroes of the land 
middle of the night 



flight of the birds 
dream of battlefields 
time of trouble 
to — too {not, tu) 

to school, church, etc. 
to find, rest, have, etc. 



to-day {not, t'day) 

to-morrow 

to-night 

(The infinitives will furnish further drill on "to.") 

for {not, fur) ; from {not, friim) ; with {not, wit) ; because 
{not, becuz) ; below {not, bulow) ; before {not, buf5r) ; during 
{not, durin') ; against — agenst {not, against) ; across {not, acrost) . 

The personal pronouns are often slurred when combined with 
prepositions and other short words, especially those ending in 
"d" or "t." Form "d" and "t" with the tip of the tongue, 
acting against the upper gum. 

Drill : — at him, her, his, them, our, your {not, attim). 





by ' 
on 
of 
for 


him {not, byum) 
his 


let 
cut 
hit 
beat 


me {not, lemme) 
him 


from 


her 


meet 


his 


with 
near 


them 
our 


have 
had 


her 
them 


against 
below 


your 


put 
sent 


our 
your 


across , 




hurt 
want. 




Combinatior 


is of words commonly slurred. 


He 

She 


doesn't 
didn't 




fknow, mind {not, hedun no), 
want, care, read. 


It , 






k see, run, go 


, etc. 



I can see them {not, I ken seeum). 

She can't see you {not, she kent seeyuh). 



4 DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 

Who would take them ? (not, ood takum ?) 

Was he willing ? (not, wuzzy willin' ?) 

It doesn't matter (not, it dozen matter). 

Doesn't he mind? Let me see! (not, lemme). 

Don't you see? Let us leave him. 

You mustn't laugh. Let me tell them. 

He couldn't get them. Look at them ! 

Will he do it? Let her tell us. 

Write your names. Take your seat. 

Give me that (not, gimme). Does he hear you? 

I can read her writing. He makes them think. 

Pass your papers this way (not, passyur papers thissway). 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. 

Of his terrible swift sword (not, turble swifsore). 

Grapes of wrath are stored (not, grapsa wrath'r store). 

Snow lay on the ground (not, snowly on the groun'). 

Give me your hands (not, gimme yer hands) . 

Drill on words ending in "d" and "t," using the past parti- 
ciples of verbs for drill words, i.e. kept, slept, wept, drowned, 
found, etc. 

Drill on words in which "d" or "t" occurs in the middle of 
the word. 

boldly (not, boly) breadth standstill 

midst handsome swiftly 

width grandfather softly 

adjoin adjective exactly 

good-by commands directly 

kindness thousands respectful 

Combinations of words often slurred, 
one and all (not, one annall) peace and safety 

hard and fast (not, hardun fas') far and wide 
straight and tall stand up and say 

struts and frets round and full 

great and small man and woman 



DRILL IN 


ENUNCIATION 5 


reached and kept 


black and white 


you and I, he and I, etc. 


body and soul 


between you and me 


bread and butter 


man and bird and beast 


time and tide 


peace and plenty 


spring and summer 


and bring it 


thousands of miles 


and set the stars 


that standard sheet 


and how, when, why, etc. 


old oaken bucket 


Pronounce "have" — hav {not, uv or uh). 


would 




done it (not, woulda done 't) 


could 




seen it (not, could of seen't) 


should 




known 


might 


have 


found 


may 




had 


can 




written 


shall 




brought, etc. 


will 






Drill on words ending in " st." * 


most (not, mos') just 


proudest fiercest 


best worst 


youngest thickest 


lest crust 


greatest longest 


first (not, furs) finest 


rudest nicest 


least coarsest 


noblest breakfast 


Combinations of words frequently slurred. 


upmost round {not, upmo 


3' bravest men 


sroun') 


just did it 


proudest boast 


just show them 


almost ready 


you must go 


honest thought 




must thou believe (not, muss 


thou b'lieve) 


the first, the last, the best 




Drill on "th." 




thing (not, tin£ 


their 


smother thirsty 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 



think threw 


this 


thousand 


with father 


that 


something 


within mother 


these 


anything 


them brother 


those 


whether 


then three 


thirty 


whither 


Drill on words in which "h" 


is often not sounded. 


whip {not, wip) white 


whistle 


whether 


why whim 


whisker 


huge 


when wheel 


whittle 


Hugh 


while (not, wile) which 


whisper 


hospital 


who whet 


wherever 


hotel 


whose whine 


whenever 


humor 


Words in which "oi" is frequently soundec 


l"e — i." Sound 


like "o" in "boy." 






boil toil 


soil 


point 


boiling toiling 


join 


pointer 


coil turmoil 


coin 


voice 


coiling foil 


joint 


choice 


Combinations of words in which "than" is 


often pronounced, 


"then" or "n." 






more than (not, moreun) 


worse than 




better than 


easier than 




rather than 


quicker than I, he, she, etc. 


taller than he, she, I 


happier than I 


nicer than they 


cleverer than he 


more blest than she 


quicker than I 


Pronounce "a" in day, not e. 






to-day 


yesterday 




Sunday (not, Sundy) 


holiday 




Monday, etc. 






Don't pronounce words ending in "a" and ' 


'aw," as if spelled 


with"r." 






law (not, lawr) paw 


Hannah (not, Han- 


saw idea 




nur) 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATID.X 



jaw draw drawing 

raw Anna veranda 

, Pronounce "self," not "stilf." 
herself myself selfish 

itself ourselves selfsame 

himself themselves 

Everyday words often mispronounced, 
was — woz (not, wuz) always — awl-waz (not, alluz) 

often — of'n (not, often) lion — ll'un (not, line) 

been — bin or ben (not, ben) roof — roof (not, ruf ) 
won't — won't (not, wunt) catch — kach (not, kStch) 

stayed — stad(«0/, sted or stood) shall — shal (not, shel) 
chimney — (not, chimley) nobody — no'bod-e(w0/, nobuddy) 

something — sum-thing (not, since (not, sence) 

sumpun) lesson — les'n (not, lessin) 

Words in which "i" is often pronounced "iS." 
firm — ferm (not, furm) girl — gerl (not, gurrl) 



first 




girder 


circle 


bird 




girdle 


whirl 


third 




birth 


shirk 


thirst 




mirth 


virtue 


thirty 




birch 


shirt 


dirty 




gird 




Words 


in which " i 


" is carelessly enunciated. I (not, u or e) 


habit (not, habet) 


liquid 


satin 


spirit 




torrid 


victim 


visit 




frigid 


Philip 


credit 




acid 


worship 


merit 




solid 


gossip 


limit 




splendid 


classic 


profit 




stupid (not, 


domestic 


summit 




stoo'ped) 


majestic 


pulpit 




margin (not, 


novelist 


inhabit 




marjun) 


pupil 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 



rabbit 




cabin 


pencil 


humid 




vapid 


artist 


timid 




ruin {not, roon) 


civil 


April 




robin 


peril 


fertile 




notice {not, notus) 


attentive 


furnish 




justice 


hospital 


childish 




practice 


ordinary 


selfish 




promise 


engineer 


foolish 




massive 


examination 


rapid 




sensitive 




Words in 


i which "e ,! 


' is often pronounced 


"i"or"u." 


gladness {not, gladnis) 


nicest 


linen 


kindness 




hardest 


children 


goodness 




softest 


chisel 


business 




sacred 


flannel 


endless 




united 


closet 


sickness 




created 


outlet 


darkness 




seated 


pamphlet 


mistress 




hundred 


parent 


senseless 




emblem 


present 


boundless 




problem 


innocent 


nearest 




sullen 


basement 


Sound e, 


not u, the " 


e" in the following 7 


tvords. 


nerve {not, 


nurve) 


discern 


permit 


term 




herd 


perceive 


fern 




certain 


persuade 


verse 




person 


perfume 


stern 




perhaps 


perform 


govern 




reference 


chatter 


cistern 




Germany 


charger 


utterly- 




fishery 


cider 


adverse 




misery 


flatter 


reverse 




chapter 


brother 


transfer 




charter 


lawyer 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 



u" is frequently pronounced "66." 



stupid (not, acute nude enthusiastic 

stoo'ped) tune duke multitude 

stupor tube reduce subdued 

refuse crude produce tumult 

confuse 

Sound "u" as in "full"; i.e. "u" not "<*•" 
truthful (ful — not, f ul) mindful 

wasteful merciful 

cupful faithful 

beautiful helpful 

Pronounce "ow" — o, not uh. 
yellow follow window 

mellow hollow widow 

fellow swallow willow 

It is related that a certain Georgy, asked to read the sentence, 
"See the horse running !" emitted it in one mouthful, — "See th' 
'orse runnun'!" The teacher told him to repeat more slowly, 
"putting in the 'g'." Whereupon Georgy, with the eagerness of 
perfect understanding, read it, "Gee! See the horse runnun' !" 

The following drill is for other Georgys. 
going— (not, go'n). 
going home, to school, church, etc. 
coming here, home, to school, church, etc. 
singing a song, 
running a race. 
Where are you going ? 
When are you coming back ? 
She was laughing at it. 
I was eating my dinner. 
He is fond of asking questions. 
She was telling a thrilling story. 
What are you doing? (not, Wot ar' yuh doon?) 
What were you saying? 



IO 



DRILL IN ENUNCIATION 



What is he making? 

The train was moving slowly. 

They are keeping him busy. 

We were speaking of taking a long rest. 

Avoid the suppression of a syllable. 

Drill: — 



quiet {not, quite) 


embroidery 


gardener 


poet 


ivory 


traveler 


poetry 


memory 


funeral 


cruel 


factory 


salary 


gruel 


history 


jewelry 


every (not, evry) 


different 


original 


everybody 


reverent 


honorable 


everywhere 


reverence 


reasonable 


celery 


offering 


valuable 


finery 


suffering 


particular 


slavery 


dangerous 


president 


robbery 


general 


civilization 


utterly 


governor 


introductory 


slippery 


government 


confederacy 


discovery 


evening 


Massachusetts 


perfumery 


examining 


superintendent 


"Lie," to recline, 


is frequently confused 


with "lay," to 


or set. 






He, she, they, I, T 


we, — lay down or were lying down. 


it down. They were 


: laying the carpet. 





to place 



I laid 



PART II 
BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, 

And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away: 

"Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!" 

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : " 'Fore God I am no coward ; 

But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, 

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. 

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?" 

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville : " I know you are no coward ; 

You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. 

But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. 

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, 

To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain." 

So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day, 

Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; 

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land 

Very carefully and slow, 

Men of Bideford in Devon, 

And we laid them on the ballast down below ; 

For we brought them all aboard, 

And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, 

To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. 

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, 

And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, 

With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. 



12 A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 

" Shall we fight or shall we fly ? 

Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 

For to fight is but to die ! 

There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." 

And Sir Richard said again : " We be all good Englishmen. 

Let us bang those dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, 

For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet." 

Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and'so 

The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, 

With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; 

For half their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, 

And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea lane between. 

Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and 

laughed, 
Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft 
Running on and on, till delayed 

By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, 
And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, 
Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. 
And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud 
Whence the thunderbolt will fall 
Long and loud, 
Four galleons drew away 
From the Spanish fleet that day, 

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, 
And the battle thunder broke from them all. 

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the sum- 
mer sea, 

But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. 

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high built galleons 
came, 

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and 
her shame. 



A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 1 3 

For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight 

us no more — 
God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before ? 
For he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 
Though his vessel was all but a wreck; 
And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was 

gone, 
With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, 
But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, 
And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, 
And he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 

And the night went down and the sun smiled out far over the 

summer sea, 
And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring ; 
But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still 

could sting, 
So they watched what the end would be. 
And we had not fought them in vain, 
But in perilous plight were we, 
Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 
And half of the rest of us maimed for life 
In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; 
And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and 

cold, 
And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of 

it spent; 
And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; 

But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: 

" We have fought such a fight for a day and a night 

As may never be fought again ! 

We have won great glory, my men ! 

And a day less or more 



14 A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 

At sea or ashore, 

We die — does it matter when? 

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner — sink her, — split her in 

twain ! 
Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!" 
And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: 
" We have children, we have wives, 
And the Lord hath spared our lives. 

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go ; 
We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." 
And the lion lay there dying, and they yielded to the foe. 

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, 
Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, 
And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace ; 
But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: 

"I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; 
I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do: 
With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die !" 
And he fell upon their decks, and he died. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 

Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side, 

And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride : 

He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the 

day, 
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away. 
Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the 

Guides : 



A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 1 5 

" Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides ? " 
Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar, 
" If ye know the track of the morning mist, ye know where his 

pickets are; 
At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair — 
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare, 
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, 
By the favor of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue 

of Jagai. 
But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then, 
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain are sown with 

Kamal's men." 
The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he, 
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of 

the gallows-tree. 
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat — 
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat, 
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly, 
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of 

Jagai, 
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back. 
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol 

crack. 
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went 

wide, 
" Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. " Show now if ye can ride." 
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go, 
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe. 

The dun he fell at a water-course — in a woful heap fell he, — 
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider 

free. 
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand, — small room was 

there to strive — 



16 A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 

" 'Twas only by favor of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long alive; 
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of 

tree, 
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his 

knee. 
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low, 
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row; 
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high, 
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not 

fly." 
Lightly answered the Colonel's son : — " Do good to bird and 

beast, 
But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a 

feast. 
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away 
Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could 

pay. 
They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the 

garnered grain, 
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle 

are slain. 
But if thou thinkest the price be fair, and thy brethren wait to 

sup, 
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, — howl, dog, and call 

them up ! 
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack, 
Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way 

back!" 
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet. 
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and gray wolf 

meet. 
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath. 
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with 

Death?" 



A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 1 7 

Lightly answered the Colonel's son: — "I hold by the blood of 

my clan; 
Take up the mare for my father's gift — By God, she has carried 

a man!" 
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled her nose in 

his breast, 
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth the 

younger best. 
So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein, 
My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain." 
The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end, 
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "w r ill ye take the 

mate from a friend ? " 
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk of 

a limb. 
Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him ! " 
With that he whistled his only son, who dropped from a mountain- 
crest — 
He trod the ling like a buck in spring and he looked like a lance 

in rest. 
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of 

the Guides, 
And thou must ride at his left side as shield to shoulder rides. 
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed, 
Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy head." 

Oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the two shall meet 
Till earth and sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat 
But there is neither east nor west, border or breed or birth, 
When two strong men stand face to face though they come from 
the ends of the earth. 

— Rudyard Kipling. 



18 THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE 

Word was brought to the Danish king, 

(Hurry !) 
That the love of his heart lay suffering, 
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring. 

(Oh ! ride as if you were flying !) 
Better he loves each golden curl 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl ; 
And his Rose of the Isles is dying. 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed : 

(Hurry !) 
Each one mounted a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 

(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 
Spurs were stuck in the foaming flank, 
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; 
Bridles were slackened and girths were burst ; 
But, ride as they would, the king rode first, 
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 

His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 

(Hurry !) 
They have fainted and faltered, and homeward gone ; 
His little fair page now follows alone, 

For strength and for courage trying. 
The king looked back at that faithful child, 
Wan was the face that answering smiled. 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, 
Then he dropped, and only the king rode in 

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 19 

The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 

(Silence !) 
No answer came, but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold gray morn, 

Like the breath of a spirit sighing ; 
The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
None welcomed the king from that weary ride ! 
For, dead in the light of the dawning day, 
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 

Who had yearned for his voice while dying. 

The panting steed with a drooping crest stood weary ; 
The king returned from the chamber of rest, 
The thick sobs choking in his breast, 

And that dumb companion eying, 
The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; 
He bowed his head on his charger's neck, — 
" O steed that every nerve didst strain, 
Dear steed ! our ride has been in vain 

To the halls where my love lay dying." 

— Caroline Elizabeth Norton. 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM 
GHENT TO AIX 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 

"Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate bolts undrew; 

"Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; 

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 

And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; 



j 



20 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the cheek strap, chained slacker the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 

'Twas moonset at starting; but, while we drew near 

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; 

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 

At Dliffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be, 

And from Mecheln church steeple we heard the half chime, 

So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time ! " 

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 

And against him the cattle stood black every one, 

To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past, 

And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last, 

With resolute shoulders, each butting away 

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! 
And the thick heavy spume flakes which aye and anon 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! 
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, 
We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 






INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 21 

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff, 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" 

"How they'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff coat, each holster let fall, 

Shook off both my jack boots, let go belt and all, 

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer; 

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, 

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 

And all I remember is, friends flocking round 
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 

— Robert Browning. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming day; 



22 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smoke there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full galloping; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through), 
You looked twice e'er you saw his breast, 

Was all but shot in two. 

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him." The chief's eye flashed; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed; but presently 
Softened itself, as sheathes 



HELEN OF K1RC0NNELL 23 

A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
"You're wounded ! " "Nay," his soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said; 
"I'm killed, Sire ! " And, his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

— Robert Browning. 



HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 

I wish I were where Helen lies, 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
O that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me ! 

think na ye my heart was sair, 

When my love dropt down and spake nae mair, 1 

1 laid her down wi' meikle 2 care, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

As I went down the water side, 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee ; 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

1 Nae mair — no more. 2 Meikle — much. 



24 SIR PATRICK SPENS 

I hacked him in pieces sraa', 
For her sake that died for me. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair, 
Shall bind my heart forever mair, 
Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
O that I were where Helen lies 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
Were I with thee, I would be blest, 
Where thou liest low, and tak'st thy rest 

On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

1 wish I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies 

For her sake that died for me. 

— Scotch Ballad. 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 

The King sits in Dunfermline town, 
Drinking the blude-red wine ; 

"O where will I get a skeely skipper, 1 
To sail this new ship of mine ? " — 

O up and spake an eldern knight, 
Sat at the King's right knee, — 

1 Skeely skipper — skillful mariner. 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 25 

"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, 
That ever sailed the sea." — 

Our King has written a braid letter, 1 

And sealed it with his hand, 
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 

Was walking on the strand. 

"To Noroway, to Noroway, 

To Noroway o'er the f aem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'Tis thou maun 2 bring her hame." 

The first word that Sir Patrick read, 

So loud, loud laughed he ; 
The next word that Sir Patrick read, 

The tear blinded his ee. 

"O wha is this has done this deed, 

And tauld the King o' me, 
To send us out, at this time of the year 

To sail upon the sea? 

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a' ! 

Our gude ship sails the morn." — 
"Now ever alack, my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm ! 

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 3 

Wi' the auld moon in her arm; 
And, if we gang to sea, master, 

I fear we'll come to harm." 

Braid letter — commission. 2 Maun — must. 3 Yestreen — last evening. 



26 LOCH INVAR 

They hadna sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When the lift * grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 

And gurry 2 grew the sea. 

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 3 

It was such a deadly storm; 
And the waves came o'er the broken ship, 

Till a' her sides were torn. 

* * * * 

O laith, 4 laith, were our gude Scots lords 

To wet their cork-heeled shoon ! 5 
But lang or a' the play was played 

They wet their hats aboon. 

* * * * 
O lang, lang, may the ladies sit, 

Wi their fans into their hand, 
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the strand ! 

* * * * 
O forty miles off Aberdeen, 

'Tis fifty fathoms deep, 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 

— Scotch Ballad. 



LOCHINVAR 

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

1 Lift — air. 2 Gurly — rough, stormy. 3 Lap — sprang. 

4 Laith — loath. 6 Shoon — shoes. 



LOCHINVAR 27 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske River where ford there was none ; 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late; 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all : 
Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 
"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 



28 HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE 

And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near ; 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

"She is won ! we are gone over bank, bush, and scaur; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLN- 
SHIRE 

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 

The ringers ran by two, by three ; 
"Pull, if ye never pulled before; 

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 
"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 
Play all your changes, all your swells 
Play uppe 'The Brides of Enderby.'" 

***** 
All fresh the level pasture lay, 

And not a shadow mote be seene, 
Save where full fyve good miles away 

The steeple towered from out the greene ; 



HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE 29 

And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 
Was heard in all the country side 
That Saturday at eventide. 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 

And all along where Lindis flows 
To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 
They sayde, "And why should this thing be, 
What danger lowers by land or sea ? 
They ring the tune of Enderby ! 

" For evil news from Marblethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys warping down; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne : 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring ' The Brides of Enderby' ? " 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 

Came riding downe with might and main: 

He raised a shout as he drew on, 
Till all the welkin rang again, 

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 

"The olde sea-wall," he cried, " is downe, 

The rising tide comes on apace, 
And boats adrift in yonder towne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
"God save you, mother!" straight he saith; 
"Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" 



30 HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE 

" Good sonne, where Lindis winds away 
With her two bairns I marked her long ; 

And ere yon bells began to play 
Afar I heard her milking song." 

He looked across the grassy sea, 

To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!" 

They rang " The Brides of Enderby ! " 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For lo ! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest, 

And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud; 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 

And rearing Lindis backward pressed, 
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 

Then madly at the eygre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — 

Then beaten foam flew round about — 

Then all the mighty floods were out. 

So farre, so fast the eygre drave, 

The heart had hardly time to beat, 
Before a shallow seething wave 

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 
The feet had hardly time to flee 
Before it brake against the knee, 
And all the world was in the sea. 

Upon the roofe we sate that night, 
The noise of bells went sweeping by: 



THE LORD OF BUTRAGO 31 

I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the church tower, red and high — 
A lurid mark and dread to see; 
And awsome bells they were to mee, 
That in the dark rang "Enderby." 

They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 

And I — my sonne was at my side, 
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 

" O come in life, or come in death ! 

O lost ! my love, Elizabeth." 

And didst thou visit him no more ? 

Thou didst, thou didst my daughter deare; 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 

*** *t* *p *•• *T* 

— Jean Ingelow. 



THE LORD OF BUTRAGO 

" Your horse is faint, my King — my lord ! your gallant horse is 

sick — 
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick ; 
Mount, mount on mine, oh mount apace, I pray thee mount 

and fly! 
Or in my arms I'll lift your grace — their trampling hoofs are 

nigh ! 



32 THE LORD OF BUTRAGO 

" My King ! my King ! you're wounded sore — the blood runs 

from your feet; 
But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat ! 
Mount Juan, for they gather fast ! I hear their coming cry — 
Mount, mount and ride for jeopardy — I'll save you tho' I die ! 

" Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need be gentle as a lamb : 
I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth — thy master dear I am — 
Mount Juan, mount ! whate'er betide, away the bridle fling, 
And plunge the rowels in his side — my horse shall save the King ! 

" Nay never speak ; my sires, Lord King, received their land from 

yours, 
And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures ! 
If I should fly, and thou my King be found among the dead, 
How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn upon my head? 

" Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, 
And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain ! 
I leave Diego in your care — you'll fill his father's place ; 
Strike, strike, the spur, and never spare — God's blessings on 
your grace ! " 

So spake the brave Montafiez, Butrago's lord was he; 
And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee; 
He flung himself upon them, as they came down the hill — 
He died, God wot ! * but not before his sword had drunk its fill. 

— Spanish Ballad. 

1 Wot — knows. 



THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN 33 

THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN 

At the gate of old Granada, where all its bolts are barred, 

At twilight, at the Vega gate, there is a trampling heard ; 

There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, 

And the weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe. 

What tower is fallen, what star is set, what chief comes there 

bewailing ? — 
" A tower is fallen, a star is set ! — Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors 

they throw; 
Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ! 
In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, 
Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch ; 
Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, 
For all have heard the misery. — Alas ! alas for Celin ! 

Him yesterday a Moor did slay of Bencerrage's blood, — 
'Twas at the solemn jousting, — around the nobles stood : 
The nobles of the land were by and ladies bright and fair 
Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share; 
But now the ladies all lament, and the ladies are bewailing, — 
" For he was Granada's darling Knight, — Alas ! alas for Celin! " 

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, 
With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view; 
Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil; 
Behind the tambour's dismal stroke take up their doleful tale; 
When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherltfss bewailing, 
And all the people far and near cry — " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

Oh ! lovely lies he on the bier above the purple pall, 

The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all; 



34 ROBIN HOOD 

His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale, 
The crust of blood lies thick and dim upon his burnished mail ; 
And ever more the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing ; — 
Its sound is like no earthly sound, — "Alas! alas for Celin!" 

The Moorish maid at the lattice stands, — the Moor beside his 
door, 

One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore; 

Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they 
strew 

Upon the broidered garments of crimson, green, and blue; 

Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud be- 
wailing, 

From door and lattice high and low, — " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

— Spanish Ballad. 



ROBIN HOOD 

Now Robin he is to Nottingham bound, 
With his bag hanging down to his knee, 

His staff, and his coat, scarce worth a groat, 
Yet merrily passed he. 

As Robin he passed the streets along, 

He heard a pitiful cry; 
Three brethren dear, as he did hear, 

Condemned were to die. 

Then Robin came to the Sheriff's house, 

Some relief for to seek ; 
He skipt, and leapt, and capered full high, 

As he went along the street. 






ROBIN HOOD 35 

But when to the Sheriff's door he came, 
There a gentleman fine and brave ; — 

"Thou beggar," said he, "come tell unto me 
What is it thou wouldst have?" 

"No meat, no drink," said Robin Hood then, 

"That I came here to crave; 
But to get the lives of yeomen three, 

And that I fain would have." 

"That cannot be thou bold beggar, 

Their fact it is so clear; 
I'll tell to thee, they hanged must be, 

For stealing of our king's deer." 

But when to the gallows they did come, 

There was many a weeping eye : 
"Oh ! hold your peace," said Robin Hood then, 

" For certain they shall not die." 

Then Robin he set his horn to his mouth, 

And he blew out blasts three, 
Till a hundred bold archers brave 

Came kneeling down to his knee. 

" What is your will, master?" they said, 

"We are at your command." 
" Shoot east, shoot west, " said Robin Hood then, 

" And see you spare no man." 



Then they shot east, and they shot west, 

Their arrows were so keen ; 
The Sheriff he, and his company, 

No longer could be seen. 



36 COLUMBUS 

Then he stept to those three brethren, 

And away he has them ta'en, 
The Sheriff was crossed l and many a man lost, 

The dead lay on the plain. 

And away they went to the merry green wood, 

And sung with a merry glee ; 
And Robin Hood took these brethren good 

To be of his yeomandrie. 

— English Ballad. 



COLUMBUS 2 

Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind him the gates of Hercules; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said, " Now we must pray, 

For, lo ! the very stars are gone. 
Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?" 

" Why, say : ' Sail on, sail on ! and on ! ' " 

" My men grow mutinous day by day ; 

My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home ; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
" What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
" Wny you shall say, at break of day : 

1 Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! ' " 

1 Crossed — overpowered. 

2 Taken from "The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller," copyrighted 
and published by The Whitaker, Ray Co. Reprinted by permission of the 
publishers. 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK 37 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 

Until at last the blanched mate said, 
"Why, now not even God would know 

Should I and all my mates fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say — " 

He said, " Sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate ! 

"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait, 

With lifted teeth as if to bite ! 
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; 

WTiat shall we do when hope is gone?" 
The words leapt as a leaping sword : 

" Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck 

And peered through darkness. Ah, that night 
Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 

A light ! a light ! a light ! a light ! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world ; he gave that world 

Its greatest lesson : " On ! sail on ! " 

— Joaquin Miller. 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, 
The ship was as still as she could be; 
Her sails from heaven received no motion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 



38 THE INCHCAPE ROCK 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. 

The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok 
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the surge's swell, 
The mariners heard the warning bell; 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. 

The sun in heaven was shining gay; 

All things were joyful on that day; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round. 

And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen 
A darker speck on the ocean green; 
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring; 
It made him whistle, it made him sing; 
His heart was mirthful to excess, 
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the Inchcape float; 
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat, 
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK 39 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 

And to the Inchcape Rock they go; 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. 

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound ; 

The bubbles rose and burst around; 

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock 

Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; 
He scoured the seas for many a day; 
And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course for Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 
They cannot see the sun on high ; 
The wind it hath blown a gale all day; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; 
So dark it is they see no land, 
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? 
For methinks we should be near the shore." 
"Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell." 



They hear no sound; the swell is strong; 
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, — 
"O God! it is the Inchcape Rock!" 



40 MARCO BOZZARIS 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; 
He cursed himself in his despair; 
The waves rush in on every side ; 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 






But, even in his dying fear, 
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear — 
A sound as if, with the Inchcape bell, 
The fiends below were ringing his knell. 

— Robert Southey. 



MARCO BOZZARIS 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power; 
In dreams, through camp and court he bore 

The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring; 
Then pressed his monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 

True as the steel of their tried blades, 
Heroes in heart and hand. 

There had the Persian's thousands stood, 

There had the glad earth drunk their blood 
On old Plataea's day; 

And now there breathed that haunted air 









MARCO BOZZARIS 4 1 

The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 
As quick, as far as they. 

An hour passed on : — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 

"To arms ! they come ! The Greek ! the Greek ! " 
He awoke — to die midst flame, and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and saber stroke, 

And death shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band: 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 

God — and your native land ! " 

They fought — like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered ; — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
***** 

— Fitz-Greene Halleck. 



42 A TALE 



A TALE 



Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, 
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 
Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, 
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above 

them. 
But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; 
Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and 

the mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. 
She after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below, the clattering scales of the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven. 

— Henry W. Longfellow. 



PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND MARMION 

Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 

"Though something I might 'plain," he said, 

"Of cold respect to stranger guest, 

Sent hither by your king's behest, 
While in Tantallon's towers I staid; 



PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND M ARM ION 43 

Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation stone ; — 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall in friendship grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame with ire, 

And — "This to me ! " he said, — 
"An' 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate; 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nay, never look upon your lord 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " 



44 PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND MARMION 

On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age; 
Fierce he broke forth, — "And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? — 
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no ! — 
Up draw-bridge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall." — 
Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need, 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like arrow through the archway sprung, 
The ponderous gate behind him rung: 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 

The steed along the draw-bridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise; 
Not lighter does the swallow skim* 
Along the smooth lake's level brim: 
And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 

"Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, "and chase ! " 
But soon he reined his fury's pace. 

"A royal messenger he came, 
Though most unworthy of the name. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas' blood; 
I thought to slay him where he stood. — 

'Tis pity of him, too," he cried; 

"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride: 

I warrant him a warrior tried." — 



LUCY GRAY 45 

With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



LUCY GRAY 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray! 

And, when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see at break of day 

The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 

She dwelt on a wide moor, 
The sweetest thing that ever grew 

Beside a human door! 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 

The hare upon the green; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 

Will never more be seen. 

" To-night will be a stormy night — 

You to the town must go; 
And take a lantern, child, to light 

Your mother through the snow." 

"That, Father, will I gladly do! 

'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
The minster-clock has just struck two, 

And yonder is the moon ! " 

At this the father raised his hook, 
And snapped a faggot-band; 

He plied his work, and Lucy took 
The lantern in her hand. 



46 LUCY GRAY 

Not blither is the mountain roe : 
With many a wanton stroke 

Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time: 
She wandered up and down; 

And many a hill did Lucy climb; 
But never reached the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide; 

But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At day-break on a hill they stood 
That overlooked the moor; 

And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 
A furlong from their door. 

They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, 
"In heaven we all shall meet!" 

When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 

Then downward from the steep hill's edge 
They tracked the footmarks small; 

And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
And by the long stone wall; 

And then an open field they crossed; 

The marks were still the same; 
They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 

And to the bridge they came. 



LUCY GRAY 47 

They followed from the snowy bank 

Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into the middle of the plank; 

And further there were none ! 

Yet some maintain that to this day 

She is a living child; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 

Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 

And never looks behind; 
And sings a solitary song 

That whistles in the wind. 

— William Wordsworth. 



NATURE POEMS 
THE CLOUD 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 

Lightning my pilot sits ; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits; 
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 
4 8 



THE EAGLE 49 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

*t* *f* *T* t* *** t* *P 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 

I change but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 

Build up the blue dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 

I arise and unbuild it again. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



THE EAGLE 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
Ringed with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 
He watches from his mountain walls, 
And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



50 NOVEMBER 

NOVEMBER 

No sun — no moon ! 

No morn — no noon — 

No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — 

No sky — no earthly view — 

No distance looking blue — 

No road — no street — no "t'other side the way" — 

No end to any Row — 

No indications where the Crescents go — 

No top to any steeple — 

No recognitions of familiar people — 

No courtesies for showing 'em — 

No knowing 'em ! 

No traveling at all — no locomotion — 

No inkling of the way — no notion — 

"No go " — by land or ocean — 

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, 
No comfortable feel in any member — 
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, 
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds — 
November. 

— Thomas Hood. 



ODE TO THE NORTHEAST WIND 

Welcome, wild Northeaster ! 

Shame it is to see 
Odes to every zephyr; 

Ne'er a verse to thee. 
Welcome, black Northeaster! 

O'er the German foam; 



GUESSING SONG 51 

O'er the Danish moorlands, 

From thy frozen home. 
Tired we are of summer, 

Tired of gaudy glare, 
Showers soft and steaming, 

Hot and breathless air. 
Tired of listless dreaming, 

Through the lazy day; 
Jovial wind of winter 

Turn us out to play ! 
Sweep the golden reed-beds; 

Crisp the lazy dyke ; 
Hunger into madness 

Every plunging pike. 
Fill the lake with wild-fowl; 

Fill the marsh with snipe; 
While on dreary moorlands 

Lonely curlew pipe, 
Through the black fir forest 

Thunder harsh and dry, 
Shattering down the snow-flakes 

Off the curdled sky. 

:fc :£ H* # ♦ 

Come ! and strong within us 

Stir the Vikings' blood; 
Bracing brain and sinew; 

Blow, thou wind of God ! 

— Charles Kingsley. 



GUESSING SONG 

Oh ho ! oh ho ! Pray, who can I be ? 
I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea 



52 FALLING SNOW 

I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads, 
And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds. 
Oh ho ! oh ho ! And who can I be, 
That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea? 

I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw, 

I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw"; 

But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong, 

At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along. 

Oh ho ! oh ho ! And who can I be, 

That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea? 

I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that, 

I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat; 

But howe'er I wander, I never can stray, 

For go where I will, I've a free right of way ! 

Oh ho ! oh ho ! And who can I be, 

That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea? 

I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street, 

I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet; 

I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town, 

For all the world over extends my renown. 

Oh ho ! oh ho ! And who can I be, 

That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea? 

— Henry Johnstone. 



FALLING SNOW 

See the pretty snowflakes 
Falling from the sky; 

On the wall and housetops 
Soft and thick they lie. 






RAIN IN SUMMER 53 

On the window-ledges, 

On the branches bare; 
Now how fast they gather, 

Filling all the air. 

Look into the garden, 

Where the grass was green; 
Covered by the snowflakes, 

Not a blade is seen. 

Now the bare black bushes 

All look soft and white, 
Every twig is laden, — 

What a pretty sight ! 

— Unknown. 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

A good summer storm is a rain of riches. If gold and silver 
rattled down from the clouds, they would hardly enrich the land 
so much as soft, long rains. Every drop is silver going to the 
mint. The roots are machinery, and catching the willing drops, 
they assay them, refine them, roll them, stamp them, and turn 
them out coined berries, apples, grains, and grasses ! When the 
heavens send clouds, and they bank up the horizon, be sure they 
have hidden gold in them. 

Well, let it rain then ! No matter if the journey is delayed, 
the picnic spoiled, the visit adjourned. Blessed be rain — and 
rain in summer! And blessed be He who watereth the earth, 
and enricheth it for man and beast ! 

— Henry Ward Beecher. 



54 TO A BUTTERFLY 

TO A BUTTERFLY 

I've watched you now a full half hour, 

Self -poised upon that yellow flower; 

And, little butterfly, indeed 

I know not if you sleep or feed. 

How motionless ! — not frozen seas 

More motionless ! and then 

What joy awaits you, when the breeze 

Hath found you out among the trees, 

And calls you forth again ! 

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; 
My trees they are, my sister's flowers; 
Here rest your wings when they are weary; 
Here lodge as in a sanctuary ! 
Come often to us, fear no wrong; 
Sit near us, on the bough ! 
We'll talk of sunshine and of song; 
And summer days when we were young; 
Sweet childish days, that were as long 
As twenty days are now. 

— William Wordsworth. 









ON MAY MORNING 

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 
Hail, bounteous May ! that dost inspire 
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; 



TO A WATER BIRD 55 

Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 

— John Milton. 



"NOW CAME STILL EVENING ON" 

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad; 
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung; 
Silence was pleased; now glow r ed the firmament 
With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. 

— John Milton (Paradise Lost). 



TO A WATER BIRD 

O melancholy bird ! a winter's day 

Thou standest by the margin of the pool, 

And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school 

To patience, which all evil can allay; 

God has appointed thee the fish thy prey; 

And given thyself a lesson to the fool 

Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule, 

And his unthinking course by thee to weigh. 



56 THE HUMBLE-BEE 

There need not schools, nor the professor's chair, 
Though these be good, true wisdom to impart, 
He who has not enough for these to spare 
Of time or gold, may yet amend his heart, 
And teach his soul by brooks and rivers fair; 
Nature is always wise in every part. 

— Lord Thurlow. 



THE HUMBLE-BEE 

Burly, dozing humble-bee, 
Where thou art is clime for me. 

When the south wind, in May days, 
With a net of shining haze 
Silvers the horizon wall, 
And, with softness touching all, 
Tints the human countenance 
With a color of romance, 
And infusing subtle heats, 
Turns the sod to violets, 
Thou, in sunny solitudes, 
Rover of the underwoods, 
The green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow, breezy bass. 
***** 
Aught unsavory or unclean 
Hath my insect never seen; 
But violets and bilberry bells, 
Maple-sap and daffodels; 
Wiser far than human seer, 
Yellow-breeched philosopher ! 
Seeing only what is fair, 



STORM SONG 57 

Sipping only what is sweet, 
Thou dost mock at fate and care, 
Leave the chaff and take the wheat. 
When the fierce northwestern blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fast, 
Thou already slumberest deep; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep; 
Want and woe which torture us, 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



STORM SONG 

The clouds are scudding across the moon, 

A misty light is on the sea; 
The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, 

And the foam is flying free. 

Brothers, a night of terror and gloom 
Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar, 

Thank God, he has given us broad sea-room, 
A thousand miles from shore. 

Down with the hatches on those who sleep ! 

The wild and whistling deck have we; 
Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep, 

While the tempest is on the sea ! 

Though the rigging shrieks in his terrible grip, 
And the naked spars be snapped away, 

Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship 
In the teeth of the whelming spray ! 



58 A SNOW-STORM 

Hark ! how the surges o'erleap the deck ! 

Hark ! how the pitiless tempest raves ! 
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck 

Drifting over the desert waves. 

Yet courage, brothers ! we trust the wave, 
With God above us, our guiding chart : 

So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave, 
Be it still with a cheery heart ! 

— Bayard Taylor. 






A SNOW-STORM 

The preparations of a snow-storm are, as a rule, gentle and 
quiet; a marked hush pervades both the earth and the sky. 
There is no uproar, no clashing of arms, no blowing of wind- 
trumpets. The soft, feathery, exquisite crystals are formed as 
if in the silence and privacy of the inner cloud-chambers. Rude 
winds would break the spell and mar the process. 

As the day declines the storm waxes, the wind increases, and 
the snow fall thickens. Out of doors you seem in a vast tent 
of snow; the distance is shut out, and near-by objects are hidden. 
There are white curtains above you and white screens about you, 
and you feel housed and secluded in storm. 

How deeply, and warmly, and spotlessly Earth's nakedness is 
clothed! It is a veritable fleece, beneath which the shivering 
earth is restored to warmth. And how, like a fleece of wool, it 
rounds and fills out the landscape, and makes the leanest and most 
angular places appear smooth and beautiful! 

— John Burroughs. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 59 

NOVEMBER 

Yet one smile more, departing distant sun ! 

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, 
Ere o'er the frozen earth the loud winds run, 

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. 
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, 

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, 
And the blue Gentian flower, that in the breeze 

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. 
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee 

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, 
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, 

And man delight to linger in thy ray. 
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear 
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and 

sere. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang 

and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. 



60 THE SANDPIPER 

The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain, 
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; 
But on the hill the golden- rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague 

on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, 

and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will 

come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are 

still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he 

bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



THE SANDPIPER 

Across the narrow beach we flit, 

One little sandpiper and I; 
And fast I gather, bit by bit, 

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 



SEE WHAT A LOVELY SHELL/ 6 1 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud black and swift across the sky; 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white light-houses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach, 

I see the close-reefed vessels fly, 
As fast we flit along the beach, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along, 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; 
He starts not at my fitful song, 

Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
He has no thought of any wrong, 

He scans me with a fearless eye; 
Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

The little sandpiper and I. 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright ! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky; 
For are we not God's children both, 

Thou, little sandpiper, and I? 

— Celia Thaxter. 



SEE WHAT A LOVELY SHELL! 

See what a lovely shell, 
Small and pure as a pearl, 
Lying close to my foot, 



02 TEMPEST ON LAKE LEMAN 

Frail, but a work divine, 
Made so fairily well 
With delicate spire and whorl, 
How exquisitely minute, 
A miracle of design ! 

The tiny cell is forlorn, 
Void of the little living will 
That made it stir on the shore. 
Did he stand at the diamond door 
Of his house in a rainbow frill? 
Did he push, when he was uncurFd, 
A golden foot or a fairy horn 
Thro' his dim water- world? 

Slight, to be crush'd with a tap 
Of my finger nail on the sand, 
Small, but a work divine, 
Frail, but of force to withstand, 
Year upon year, the shock 
Of cataract seas that snap 
The three-decker's oaken spine 
Athwart the ledges of rock, 
Here on the Breton strand. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Maud). 






TEMPEST ON LAKE LEMAN 



It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep; and drawing near, 



TEMPEST ON LAKE LEMAN 63 

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 

Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear 

Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 

Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; 

He is an evening reveler, who makes 

His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; — 

At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 

Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 

There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 

But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 

All silently their tears of love instil, 

Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 

Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, 

But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; 

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep ; — 

All heaven and earth are still; from the high host 

Of stars to the lulled lake and mountain coast, 

All is concentered in a life intense, 

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 

But hath a part of being, and a sense 

Of that which is of all Creator and defense. 

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 

In solitude, where we are least alone; 

A truth, which through our being then doth melt, 

And purifies from self; it is a tone 

The soul and source of music, which makes known eternal harmony. 

The sky is changed ! and such a change ! Oh night, 
And storm and darkness ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 



64 APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 

But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers from her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud ! 
And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber ! Let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
— George Gordon, Lord Byron (Childe Harold). 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, — 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 
******* 
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee ; — 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
Thy waters washed them power while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, 
Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow: 

Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time 



ODE TO THE WEST WIND 65 

Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm — 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime, — 
The image of eternity, — the throne 
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
— George Gordon, Lord Byron (Childe Harold). 



ODE TO THE WEST WIND 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead, 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes; O thou 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odors plain and hill; 
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, oh, hear! 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
Than Thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 

F 



66 A VAGABOND SOXG 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 

As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed, 

Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 

I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 

One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. 

Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is; 
What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, 
My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth ! 
And, by the incantation of this verse, 
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawakened earth, 
The trumpet of a prophecy ! O wind, 
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 









A VAGABOND SONG 

There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood — 

Touch of manner, hint of mood; 

And my heart is like a rhyme, 

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. 

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry 
Of bugles going by; 






SCYTHE SONG 67 

And my lonely spirit thrills 

To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. 

There is something in October sets the gipsy blood astir; 

We must rise and follow her, 

When from every hill of flame 

She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 

— Bliss Carman. 

From " Songs of Vagabondia " by Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey. 
Copyright 1894 by Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey. Reprinted by cour- 
teous permission of the publishers, Messrs. Small, Maynard and Co. 



SCYTHE SONG 

Mowers, weary and brown and blithe, 

What is the word methinks ye know, 
Endless over-word that the scythe 

Sings to the blades of the grass below? 
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover, 

Something, still, they say as they pass ; 
What is the word that, over and over, 

Sings the scythe to the flowers and grass? 

Hush, ah hush, the scythes are saying, 

Hush and heed not, and fall asleep; 
Hush, they say to the grasses swaying, 

Hush, they sing to the clover deep ! 
Hush — 'tis the lullaby Time is singing — 

Hush and heed not, for all things pass, 
Hush, ah hush! and the* scythes are swinging 

Over the clover, over the grass ! 

— Andrew Lang. 

Reprinted by permission of Longmans, Green and Co., Publishers. 



68 ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET 

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET 

The poetry of earth is never dead: 

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; 
That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead 

In summer luxury — he has never done 
With his delights; for when tired out with fun, 

He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
The poetry of earth is ceasing never: 

On a lone winter evening, when the frost 
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills 

The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 
And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost, 

The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

— John Keats. 



THE SIGH OF SILENCE 

I stood tiptoe upon a little hill; 

The air was cooling and so very still, 

That the sweet buds which with a modest pride 

Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, 

Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering stems, 

Had not yet lost their starry diadems 

Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. 

The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn, 

And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly they slept 

On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept 

A little noiseless noise among the leaves, 

Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; 






WIND AND SEA 69 

For not the faintest motion could be seen 
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. 
****** 

— John Keats. 



WIND AND SEA 

The Sea is a jovial comrade, 

He laughs wherever he goes, 
His merriment shines in dimpling lines 

That wrinkle his hale repose; 
He lays himself down at the foot of the Sun, 

And laughs all over with glee, 
The broad-backed billows fall faint on the shore, 

In mirth of the mighty Sea ! 

But the Wind is sad and restless, 

And cursed with an inward pain; 
You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, 

But you hear him still complain. 
He wails on the barren mountains, 

And shrieks on the wintry sea; 
He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, 

And shudders all over the aspen tree. 

Welcome are both their voices, 

And I know not which is best, — 
The laughter that slips from the Ocean's lips, 

Or the comfortless Wind's unrest. 
There's a pang in all rejoicing, 

A joy in the heart of pain, 
And the Wind that saddens, the Sea that gladdens, 

Are singing the selfsame strain ! 

— Bayard Taylor. 



70 A SNOW SONG 

A SNOW SONG 

Does the snow fall at sea? 

Yes, when the north winds blow, 
When the wild clouds fly low, 

Out of each gloomy wing, 

Hissing and murmuring, 
Falleth the snow. 

Does the snow hide the sea? 

On all its tossing plains 

Never a flake remains ; 
Drift never resteth there, 
Vanishing everywhere, 
Into the hungry sea 

Falleth the snow. 

What means the snow at sea? 
Whirled in the veering blast, 
Thickly the flakes drive past ! 

Each like a childish ghost 

Wavers, and then is lost. 

Type of life's mystery, 

In the forgetful sea 
Fadeth the snow. 

— Henry van Dyke. 



THE TIGER 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 



THE CORN SONG 71 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the ardor of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire — 
What the hand dare seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder, and what art 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand formed thy dread feet? 

What the hammer, what the chain, 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? What dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did He smile His work to see? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

— William Blake. 



THE CORN SONG 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! 

Heap high the golden corn ! 
No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn ! 



72 THE CORN SONG 

Let other lands, exulting glean 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from its glossy green, 

The cluster from the vine; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow, 
To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest fields with snow. 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, 
Our ploughs their furrows made, 

While on the hills the sun and showers 
Of changeful April played. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 

All through the long, bright days of June 

Its leaves grew green and fair, 
And waved in hot midsummer's noon 

Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, 

Its harvest time has come, 
We pluck away the frosted leaves, 

And bear the treasure home. 

3J* 5j* *i> 5JC <|* 

Then let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod : — 
Still let us for His golden corn, 

Send up our thanks to God ! 

— John Greenleaf Whittier. 



NOVEMBER 73 

AUTUMN 

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, 

The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, and the 

year 
On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, 
Is lying. 

Come, Months, come away, 

From November to May, 

In your saddest array; 

Follow the bier 

Of the dead cold year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulcher. 

The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling, 
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling for the year. 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone, 
To his dwelling; 

Come, Months, come away, 

Put on white, black, and gray; 

Let your light sisters play; 

Ye, follow the bier 

Of the dead cold year, 
And make her grave green with tear on tear. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



NOVEMBER 



The leaves are fading and falling, 
The winds are rough and wild, 

The birds have ceased their calling, 
But let me tell you, my child. 



74 THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS 

Though day by day, as it closes, 
Doth darker and colder grow, 

The roots of the bright red roses 
Will keep alive in the snow. 

And when the winter is over, 
The boughs will get new leaves, 

The quail will come back to the clover, 
And the swallow back to the eaves. 

The robin will wear on his bosom 
A vest that is bright and new, 

And the loveliest wayside blossoms 
Will shine with the sun and dew. 

The leaves to-day are whirling, 
The brooks are all dry and dumb, 

But let me tell you, my darling; 
The Spring will be sure to come. 

There must be rough, cold weather, 
And winds and rains so wild; 

Not all good things together 
Come to us here, my child. 

So when some dear joy loses 
Its beauteous summer glow, 

Think how the roots of the roses 
Are kept alive in the snow. 



Alice Cary. 



THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS 

Whither away, Robin, 

Whither away? 
Is it through envy of the maple leaf, 



GOING A-NUTTIXG 75 

Whose blushes mock the crimson of thy breast, 

Thou wilt not stay? 
The summer days were long, yet all too brief 
The happy season thou hast been our guest; 
Whither away? 

Whither away, Bluebird, 

Whither away? 
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky 
Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, 

The hue of May. 
Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why, 
Thou too, whose song first told us of the Spring? 
Whither away? 

Whither away, Swallow, 

Whither away? 
Canst thou no longer tarry in the North, 
Here, where our roof so well hath screened thy nest ? 

Not one short day? 
Wilt thou as if thou human wert go forth 
And wanton far from them who love thee best? 
Whither away? 

— Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



GOING A-NUTTING 

No clouds are in the morning sky, 
The vapors hug the stream, — 

Who says that life and love can die 
In all this northern gleam? 

At every turn the maples burn, 
The quail is whistling free, 



76 WINTER 

The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs 
Are dropping for you and me. 

Ho ! hilly ho ! 

Heigh O ! hilly ho ! 
In the clear October morning. 

Along our path the woods are bold, 

And glow with ripe desire; 
The yellow chestnut showers its gold, 

The sumachs spread their fire; 
The breezes feel as crisp as steel, 

The buckwheat tops are red; 
Then down the lane, love, scurry again, 
And over the stubble tread ! 
Ho ! hilly ho ! 
Heigh O ! hilly ho ! 
In the clear October morning. 

— Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



WINTER 



Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 

From the snow five thousand summers old; 

On open wold and hill-top bleak 

It had gathered all the cold, 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; 

It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined his arches and matched his beams; 






THE SWALLOW 77 

Slender and clear were his crystal spars 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars: 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight; 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 

Down through a frost leaved-forest-crypt, 

Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew; 

Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 

With quaint arabesques of ice fern-leaf; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 

And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 

That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 

And made a star of every one ; 

No mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice; 

'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 

In his depths serene through the summer day, 

Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 

Lest the happy model should be lost, 

Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 

— James Russell Lowell {Vision of Sir Launfal). 



THE SWALLOW 

Fly away, fly away, over the sea, 

Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done. 



78 WHITE BUTTERFLIES 

Come again, come again, come back to me, 
Bringing the summer and bringing the sun. 

When you come hurrying home o'er the sea, 
Then we are certain that winter is past; 

Cloudy and cold though your pathway may be, 
Summer and sunshine will follow you fast. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



WHITE BUTTERFLIES 

Fly, white butterflies, out to sea, 
Frail, pale wings for the wind to try, 
Small white wings that we scarce can see, 
Fly. 

Some fly light as a laugh of glee, 
Some fly soft as a long, low sigh; 
All to the haven where each would be, 

Fly. 

— Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



THE STARS 



What do the stars do 

Up in the sky, 
Higher than the wind can blow, 

Or the clouds can fly? 

Each star in its own glory 

Circles, circles still; 
As it was lit to shine and set, 

And do its Maker's will. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 






YE STARS! WHICH ARE THE POETRY OF HEAVEN" 79 

THESE ALL WAIT UPON THEE 

Innocent eyes not ours 

Are made to look on flowers, 
Eyes of small birds, and insects small; 

Morn after summer morn 

The sweet rose on her thorn 
Opens her bosom to them all. 

The last and least of things, 

That soar on quivering wings, 
Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, 

Have just as clear a right 

To their appointed portion of delight 
As queens or kings. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



" YE STARS ! WHICH ARE THE POETRY OF HEAVEN " 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven, 
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, 
That in our aspirations to be great, 
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. 
— George Gordon, Lord Byron (Childe Harold). 



8o THE SNOW STORM 



THE SNOW STORM 



Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heavens, 
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north-wind's masonry! 

Out of an unseen quarry evermore 

Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 

Curves his white bastions with projected roof % 

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. 

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 

So fanciful, so savage; naught cares he 

For number or proportion. Mockingly, 

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; 

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; 

Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate, 

A tapering turret overtops the work: 

And when his hours are numbered, and the world 

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, 

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 

To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, 

The frolic architecture of the snow. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOWWORM 8l 

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOWWORM 

A nightingale, that all day long 
Had cheered the village with his song 
Nor yet at eve his note suspended, 
Nor yet when eventide was ended, 
Began to feel, as well he might, 
The keen demands of appetite; 
When looking eagerly around, 
He spied far off, upon the ground, 
A something shining in the dark, 
And knew the glowworm by his spark; 
So, stooping down from hawthorn top, 
He thought to put him in his crop. 
The worm, aware of his intent, 
Harangued him thus right eloquent: 
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, 
"As much as I your minstrelsy, 
You would abhor to do me wrong, 
As much as I to spoil your song; 
For 'twas the self-same power divine 
Taught you to sing and me to shine; 
That you with music, I, with light 
Might beautify and cheer the night." 
The songster heard his short oration, 
And warbling out his approbation, 
Released him as my story tells, 
And found his supper somewhere else. 

— William Cowper. 



82 SXOW-BOUXD 

SNOW-BOUND (Selection) 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night; 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag wavering to and fro, 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 

So all night long the storm roared on : 

The morning broke without a sun; 

In tiny spherule traced with lines 

Of Nature's geometric signs, 

In starry flake and pellicle 

All day the hoary meteor fell; 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 

The blue walls of the firmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towerr 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 

Or garden-wall or belt of wood; 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 



THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE 83 

And even the long sweep, high-aloof, 
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 
Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 

— John Greenleaf Whittier. 



THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE 



This is the song the Brown Thrush flings 

Out of his thicket of roses; 
Hark how it warbles and rings, 
Mark how it closes: 
Luck, luck, 
What luck? 
Good enough for me ! 
I'm alive, you see. 
Sun shining, 
No repining; 
Never borrow 
Idle sorrow; 
Drop it ! 
Cover it up ! 
Hold your cup ! 
Joy will fill it, 
Don't spill it ! 
Steady, be ready! 

Good luck ! 

— Henry van Dyke. 



84 THE SENSITIVE PLANT 

THE SENSITIVE PLANT 

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew, 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. 

And the Spring arose on the garden fair, 
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; 
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast 
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 

5JJ ?|* 3J* #JC 3JC 5jC 

The snowdrop, and then the violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent 
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness; 

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, 
Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green; 

And the hyacinth purple, and white and blue, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, 
It was felt like an odor within the sense; 

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tube-rose, 
The sweetest flower for scent that blows; 
And all rare blossoms from every clime 
Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 



THE DAFFODILS 85 

And on the stream whose inconstant bosom 
Was pranked, under boughs of embowering blossom, 
With golden and green light, slanting through 
Their heaven of many a tangled hue, 

Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, 

And starry river-buds glimmered by, 

And round them the soft stream did glide and dance 

With a motion of sweet sound and radiance. 

And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss, 
Which led through the garden along and across, 
Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, 
Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees, — 

Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells, 

As fair as the fabulous asphodels, 

And flowerets which, drooping as day drooped too, 

Fell into pavilions white, purple, and blue, 

To roof the glowworm from the evening dew. 

Sf» «§C S|C 3JS 3f» 9|« 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



THE DAFFODILS 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early rising sun 
Has not attained his noon, 
Stay, stay, 
Until the hasting day 
Has run 
But to the even-song; 



86 A BOY'S SONG 

And, having prayed together, we 
Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay, as you; 

We have as short a spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 
As you, or any thing. 
We die 
As your hours do, and dry 
Away, 
Like to the summer's rain; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

— Robert Herrick. 



A BOY'S SONG 

Where the pools are bright and deep, 
Where the gray trout lies asleep, 
Up the river and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, 
Where the nestings chirp and flee, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest; 
There to trace the homeward bee, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest, 



THERE ROLLS THE DEEP 87 

Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Why the boys should drive away 
Little sweet maidens from the play, 
Or love to banter and fight so well, 
That's the thing I never could tell. 

But this I know, I love to play 
Through the meadow, among the hay: 
Up the water and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

— James Hogg. 

THE INFLUENCE OF NATURE 

Oh what a glory doth this world put on 
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth 
Under the bright and glorious sky and looks 
On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves 
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. 
He shall so hear that solemn hymn, that Death 
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
To his long resting-place without a tear. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THERE ROLLS THE DEEP 

There rolls the deep where grew the tree. 

O earth, what changes hast thou seen ! 
There, where the long street roars, hath been 

The stillness of the central sea. 



88 FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL 

The hills are shadows, and they flow 
From form to form, and nothing stands; 

They melt like mist, the solid lands, 

Like clouds they shape themselves and go. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL 

Flower in the crannied wall, 
I pluck you out of the crannies ; — 
Hold you here root and all, in my hand, 
Little flower — but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, and all in all, 
I should know what God and man is. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



"THERE IS A PLEASURE " 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 
I love not Man the less but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

— George Gordon, Lord Byron (Childe Harold). 



TO A DANDELION 89 

O MICKLE IS THE POWERFUL GRACE 

O mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 

In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; 

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live, 

But to the earth some special good doth give; 

Nor aught so good, but, strained from that fair use, 

Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse; 

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, 

And vice sometimes by action dignified. 

— William Shakespeare. 



TO A DANDELION 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 

Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 

Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'er-joyed that they 

An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 

May match in wealth, — thou art more dear to me 

Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 

When thou, for all thy gold, so common art? 

Thou teachest me to deem 

More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 

Did we but pay the love we owe, 

And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 

On all these living pages of God's book. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



90 / CARE NOT, FORTUNE 

I CARE NOT, FORTUNE 

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; 

You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; 

You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 

Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; 

You cannot bar my constant feel to trace 

The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: 

Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 

And I their toys to the great children leave: 

Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave. 

— James Thomson. 



THE RHODORA 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black waters with their beauty gay; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being ! 
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew; 
But in my simple ignorance, suppose, 
The selfsame power that brought me there brought you. 
— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THE FIELD FRATERNITY 9 1 

THE FIELD FRATERNITY 

When God's warm justice is revealed — 
The Kingdom that the Father planned — 
His children all will equal stand 
As trees upon a level field. 

There each one has a goodly space — 
Each yeoman of the woodland race — 
Each has a foothold on the Earth, 
A place for business and for mirth. 

No privilege bars a tree's access 
To Earth's whole store of preciousness. 
The trees stand level on God's floor, 
With equal nearness to His store. 

And trees, they have no private ends, 
But stand together as close friends. 
They send their beauty on all things, 
An equal gift to clowns and kings. 

They worry not: there is enough 

Laid by for them of God's good stuff — 

Enough for all, and so no fear 

Sends boding on their blameless cheer. 

So from the field comes curious news — 
That each one takes what it can use — 
Takes what its lifted arms can hold 
Of sky-sweet rain and beamy gold; 
And all give back with pleasure high 
Their riches to the sun and sky. 

Yes, since the first star they have stood 
A testament of Brotherhood. 

— Edwin Markham. 



92 VIOLETS 

VIOLETS 

Under the green hedges after the snow, 
There do the dear little violets grow, 
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads 
Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds. 

Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky, 
Down there do the dear little violets lie; 
Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen, 
By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been. 

— J. Moultrie. 



THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE ROSE 

The lily has an air, 

And the snowdrop a grace, 
And the sweet-pea a way, 
And the heart's-ease a face, — 
Yet there's nothing like the rose 
When she blows. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



THE IVY GREEN 

Oh ! a dainty plant is the ivy green, 

That creepeth o'er ruins old; 
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed, 

To pleasure his dainty whim; 



SWEET PEAS 93 

And the moldering dust that years have made 
Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the ivy green. 

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, 

And a stanch old heart has he ! 
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To his friend, the huge, old oak tree ! 
And slyly he traileth along the ground, 

And his leaves he gently waves; 
And he joyously twines and hugs around 

The rich mold of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, 

The nation scattered been, 
But the stout old ivy shall never fade 

From its hale and hearty green. 
The brave old plant in its lonely days 

Shall fatten upon the past; 
For the stateliest building man can raise 
Is the ivy's food at last. 

Creeping where no life is seen. 
A rare old plant is the ivy green. 

— Charles Dickens. 



SWEET PEAS 

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight : 
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, 
And taper fingers catching at all things, 
To bind them all about with tiny rings. 



94 FIELD FLOWERS 

Linger awhile upon some bending planks 
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, 
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings : 
They will be found softer than ringdoves' cooings. 
How silent comes the water round that bend ! 
Not the minutest whisper does it send 
To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass 
Slowly across the chequered shadows pass. 

— John Keats. 



FIELD FLOWERS 

Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, 
Yet, wildings of Nature, I dote on you, 

For ye waft me to summers of old, 
When earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, 
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight, 

Like treasures of silver and gold. 

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 

Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June; 

Of old ruinous castles ye tell, 
Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, 
When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind, 

And your blossoms were part of her spell. 

Even now what affections the violet awakes; 
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes 

Can the wild water-lily restore; 
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, 

In the vetches that tangled their shore. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



THE THROSTLE 95 

SPRING 

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost 
Her snow-white robes; and now no more the frost 
Candies the grass or casts an icy cream 
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream: 
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, 
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth 
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree 
The drowsy cuckoo and the bumble-bee. 
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring 
In triumph to the world the youthful spring ! 
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array, 
Welcome the coming of the longed-for May. 

— Thomas Carew. 



THE THROSTLE 

" Summer is coming, summer is coming ! 

I know it, I know it, I know it. 
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again," 

Yes, my wild little Poet. 

Sing the new year in under the blue. 

Last year you sang it as gladly. 
"New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new 

That you should carol so madly? 

"Love again, song again, nest again, young again.' 

Never a prophet so crazy ! 
And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, 

See, there is hardly a daisy. 



96 THE FOREST 

" Here again, here, here, here, happy year ! " 

O warble unchidden, unbidden! 
Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, 

And all the winters are hidden. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THE FOREST 

It is a country full of evergreen trees, of mossy silver-birches 
and watery maples, the ground dotted with insipid, small, red 
berries, and strewn with damp and moss-grown rocks ; — a coun- 
try diversified with innumerable lakes and rapid streams peopled 
with trout, with salmon, shad, pickerel, and other fish. 

The forest resounds at rare intervals with the note of the chicka- 
dee, the blue-jay, and the woodpecker, the screams of the fish- 
hawk and the eagle, the laugh of the loon, and the whistle of the 
ducks along the solitary streams ; at night, with the hooting of 
owls and the howling of wolves. 

Who shall describe the inexpressible tenderness and immortal 
life of the grim forest, where Nature, though it be midwinter, is 
ever in her spring, where the moss-grown and decaying trees are 
not old, but seem to enjoy a perpetual youth; and blissful, inno- 
cent Nature, like a serene infant, is too happy to make a noise, 
except by a few tinkling, lisping birds, and trickling rills? 

— Henry D. Thoreau. 



EARLY SPRING 

Once more the Heavenly Power 
Makes all things new, 

And domes the red-plowed hills 
With loving blue; 



EARLY SPRING 97 

The blackbirds have their wills 
And throstles, too. 

Opens a door in Heaven 

From skies of glass; 
A Jacob's ladder falls 

On greening grass, 
And o'er the mountain- walls 

Young angels pass. 

Before them fleets the shower, 

And burst the buds, 
And shine the level lands, 

And flash the floods; 
The stars are from their hands 

Flung thro' the woods. 

The woods with living airs 

How softly fanned, 
Light airs from where the deep, 

All down the sand, 
Is breathing in his sleep, 

Heard by the land. 

For now the Heavenly Power 

Makes all things new, 
And thaws the cold, and fills 

The flower with dew; 
The blackbirds have their wills, 

And poets too. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



98 IN THE SUMMER TIME 

IN THE SUMMER TIME 

Now the glories of the year 
May be viewed at the best, 
And the earth now appears 
In her fairest garments dress'd ; 

Sweetly smelling plants and flowers, 
Do perfume the garden bowers; 
Hill and valley, wood and field, 
Mixed with pleasure, profits yield. 

Much is found where nothing was, 
Herds on every mountain go, 
In the meadows flowery grass 
Makes both milk and honey flow; 

Now each orchard, banquet giveth, 
Every hedge with fruit relieveth; 
And on every shrub and tree 
Useful fruit or berries be. 

Walks and ways which winter marr'd 
By the winds are swept and dried; 
Moorish grounds are now so hard 
That on them we safe may ride; 

Warmth enough the sun doth lend us. 
From his heat the shades defend us; 
And thereby we share in these 
Safety, profit, pleasure, ease. 

Other blessings, many more, 
At this time enjoyed may be, 
And in this my song therefore 
Praise I give, O Lord ! to Thee : 
Grant that this my free oblation 
May have gracious acceptation, 



/ KNOW A BANK 99 

And that I may well employ 
Everything which I enjoy. 

— George Wither. 



THE SKYLARK 

Bird of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cumberless, 
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place, — 
O to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay and loud 

Far in the downy cloud, 
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth ! 

Where, on thy dewy wing, 

Where art thou journeying? 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 

Over the cloudlet dim, 

Over the rainbow's rim, 
Musical cherub, soar, singing away ! 

— James Hogg. 



I KNOW A BANK 

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows; 
Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine; 



IOO TO THE NIGHTINGALE 

There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 

Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight;. 

And there the snake throws her enamelled skin, 

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. 

— William Shakespeare (Midsummer Night's Dream) , 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE 

Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, 
Of winters past or coming, void of care, 
Well pleased with delights which present are, 
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers; 
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers 
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 
And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, 
A stain to human sense, in sin that lowers. 
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs, 
Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven 
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spite and wrongs, 
And lift a reverent eye and thought to heaven? 
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise 
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. 

— William Drummond. 



OXFORDSHIRE CHILDREN'S MAY SONG 

Spring is coming, spring is coming, 

Birdies, build your nest; 
Weave together straw and feather, 

Doing each your best. t 



THE MONTHS ioi 

Spring is coming, spring is coming, 

Flowers are coming too: 
Pansies, lilies, daffodillies, 

Now are coming through. 

Spring is coming, spring is coming, 

All around is fair; 
Shimmer and quiver on the river, 

Joy is everywhere. 

We wish you a happy May. 

— Country Rhyme. 



THE MONTHS 

January brings the snow, 
Makes our feet and fingers glow. 

February brings the rain, 
Thaws the frozen lake again. 

March brings breezes loud and shrill, 
Stirs the dancing daffodil. 

April brings the primrose sweet, 
Scatters daisies at our feet. 

May brings flocks of pretty lambs, 
Skipping by their fleecy dams. 

June brings the tulips, lilies, roses, 
Fills the children's hands with posies. 

Hot July brings cooling showers, 
Apricots and gillyflowers. 



102 NOW FADES THE LAST LONG STREAK OF SNOW 

August brings the sheaves of corn, 
Then the harvest home is borne. 

Warm September brings the fruit, 
Sportsmen then begin to shoot. 

Fresh October brings the pheasant, 
Then to gather nuts is pleasant. 

Dull November brings the blast, 
Then the leaves are whirling fast. 

Chill December brings the sleet, 
Blazing fire and Christmas treat. 

— Old Rhyme. 



NOW FADES THE LAST LONG STREAK OF SNOW 

Now fades the last long streak of snow, 
Now bourgeons every maze of quick 
About the flowering squares, and thick 

By ashen roots the violets blow. 

Now rings the woodland loud and long, 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 
And drowned in yonder living blue 

The lark becomes a sightless song. 

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
The flocks are whiter down the vale, 
And milkier every milky sail 

On winding stream or distant sea; 

Where now the sea-mew pipes, or dives 
In yonder greening gleam, and fly 



SONG 103 

The happy birds that change their sky 
To build and brood; that live their lives 

From land to land; and in my breast 

Spring wakens too; and my regret 

Becomes an April violet, 
And buds and blossoms like the rest. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (In Memoriam). 



TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET 

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, 

Catching your heart up at the feel of June, — 
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, 

When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; 

And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 

With those who think the candles come too soon, 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune, 

Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! 

O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, 
One to the fields, the other to the hearth, 

Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong 
At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth 

To sing in thoughtful ears their natural song, — 
In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. 

— Leigh Hunt. 



SONG 



Violet ! sweet violet ! 
Thine eyes are full of tears; 

Are they wet, 

Even yet 



104 IF EVER I SEE 

With the thought of other years? 
Or with gladness are they full, 
For the night so beautiful, 
And longing for those far-off spheres? 

Thy little heart, that hath with love 
Grown colored like the sky above, 
On which thou lookest ever, — 

Can it know 

All the woe 
Of hope for what returneth never, 
All the sorrow and the longing 
To these hearts of ours belonging? 

Violet ! dear violet ! 

Thy blue eyes are only wet 
With joy and love of Him who sent thee, 
And for the fulfilling sense 
Of that glad obedience 
Which made thee all that Nature meant thee ! 

— James Russell Lowell. 



IF EVER I SEE 

If ever I see, 

On bush or tree, 
Young birds in their pretty nest, 

I must not, in play, 

Steal the birds away, 
To grieve their mother's breast. 

My mother, I know, 
Would sorrow so, 
Should I be stolen away; 



SING 07V, BLITHE BIRD! 105 

So I'll speak to the birds, 
In my softest words, 
Nor hurt them in my play. 

And when they can fly 

In the bright blue sky, 
They'll warble a song to me; 

And then if I'm sad 

It will make me glad 
To think they are happy and free. 

— Lydia Maria Child. 



SING ON, BLITHE BIRD! 

I've plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, 
But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me. 
I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer 
With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were 

near; 
I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good 
To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the 

wood. 
And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing; 
He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing. 
He will not fly ; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, 
I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay. 
Sing on, sing on, blithe bird ! and fill my heart with summer 

gladness : 
It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness. 

— William Motherwell. 



Io6 A PRAYER 



A PRAYER 



Teach me, Father, how to go 

Softly as the grasses grow; 
Hush my soul to meet the shock 

Of the wild world as a rock; 
But my spirit, propped with power, 

Make as simple as a flower. 

Teach me, Father, how to be 

Kind and patient as a tree. 
Joyfully the crickets croon 

Under shady oak at noon; 
Beetle, on his mission bent, 

Tarries in that cooling tent. 
Let me, also, cheer a spot, 

Hidden field or garden grot — 
Place where passing souls can rest 

On the way and be their best. 

— Edwin Markham. 



AT LITTLE VIRGIL'S WINDOW 

There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket, 
And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it, 
Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter, 
And our God be glad and our world be sweeter. 

— Edwin Markham. 



CHILD FANCIES 
ROMANCE 

I saw a ship a-sailing, 

A-sailing on the sea; 
Her masts were of the shining gold, 

Her decks of ivory; 
And sails of silk, as soft as milk, 

And silvern shrouds had she. 



And round about her sailing, 

The sea was sparkling white, 
The waves all clapped their hands and sang 

To see so fair a sight. 
They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice, 

And murmured with delight. 



Then came the gallant captain, 

And stood upon the deck; 
In velvet coat, and ruffles white, 

Without a spot or speck; 
And diamond rings, and triple strings 

Of pearls around his neck. 

From " The Child's World," by Gabriel Setoun, by permission of John 
Lane Company, Publishers. 

107 



108 ONE, TWO, THREE 

And four- and- twenty sailors, 

Were round him bowing low; 
On every jacket three times three 

Gold buttons in a row; 
And cutlasses down to their knees; 

They made a goodly show. 

And then the ship went sailing, 

A-sailing o'er the sea; 
She dived beyond the setting sun, 

But never back came she, 
For she found the lands of the golden sands, 

Where the pearls and diamonds be. 

— Gabriel Setoun. 



ONE, TWO, THREE 

It was an old, old, old, old lady, 
And a boy that was half -past three; 

And the way that they played together 
Was beautiful to see. 

She couldn't go running and jumping, 
And the boy, no more could he, 

For he was a thin little fellow, 
With a thin little twisted knee. 

They sat in the yellow sunlight, 

Out under the maple tree; 
And the game that they played I'll tell you, 

Just as it was told to me. 



ONE, TWO, THREE 109 

It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing, 
Though you'd never have known it to be — 

With an old, old, old, old lady, 
And a boy with a twisted knee. 

The boy would bend his face down 

On his one little sound right knee, 
And he'd guess where she was hiding 

In guesses, One, Two, Three ! 

"You are in the china closet!" 

He would cry, and laugh with glee — 
It wasn't the china closet; 

But still he had Two and Three. 

"You are up in Papa's big bedroom, 
In the chest with the queer old key !" 

And she said: "You are warm and warmer. 
But you're not quite right," said she. 

"It can't be the little cupboard 

Where Mamma's things used to be, 
So it must be the clothes press, Grandma ! " 

And he found her with his Three. 



Then she covered her face with her fingers, 
That were wrinkled and white and wee, 

And she guessed where the boy was hiding, 
With a One and a Two and a Three. 



And they never had stirred from their places, 
Right under the maple tree — 



IIO SEVEN TIMES TWO 

This old, old, old, old lady, 

And the boy with the lame little knee — 

This dear, dear, dear old lady, 

And the boy who was half-past three. 

— Henry Cuyler Bunner. 



SEVEN TIMES TWO 

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, 

How many soever they be, 
And let the brown meadow-lark's note, as he ranges 

Come over, come over to me ! 

Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling 

No magical sense conveys; 
And bells have forgotten their old art of telling 

The fortune of future days. 

"Turn again, turn again!" once they rang cheerily, 

While a boy listened alone; 
Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily 

All by himself on a stone. 

Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over, 

And mine, they are yet to be; 
No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover; 

You leave the story to me. 

The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather, 

And hangeth her hood of snow; 
She was idle and slept till the sunshiny weather; 

Oh, children take long to grow! 

I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, 
Nor long summer bide so late; 



THE CULPRIT FAY ill 

And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, 
For some things are ill to wait. 

I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, 

While dear hands are laid on my head, 
" The child is a woman — the book may close over, 

For all the lessons are said." 

I wait for my story; the birds cannot sing it, 

Not one, as he sits on the tree; 
The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh bring it ! 

Such as I wish it to be. 

— Jean Ingelow. 



THE CULPRIT FAY 

(extract) 

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: 

The wood-tick has kept the minutes well; 

He has counted them all with click and stroke, 

Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, 

And he has awakened the sentry elve 

Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, 

To bid him ring the hour of twelve, 

And call the fays to their revelry; 

Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell — 

('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell) 

" Midnight comes, and all is well ! 

Hither, hither, wing your way ! 

'Tis the dawn of the fairy-day." 

They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullein's velvet screen; 



112 GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, 

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, 

And rocked about in the evening breeze; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — 

They had driven him out by elfin power, 

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, 

Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; 

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, 

With glittering ising-stars inlaid; 

And some had opened the four-o'clock, 

And stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade, 

Above — below — on every side, 

Their little minim forms arrayed, 

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride. 

— Joseph Rodman Drake. 



GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING 

A fair little girl sat under a tree, 

Sewing as long as her eye could see; 

Then smoothed her work and folded it right, 

And said, " Dear work, good night ! good night ! : 

Then a number of rooks came over her head, 
Crying, " Caw ! caw ! " on their way to bed ; 
She said, as she watched their curious flight, 
" Little black things, good night ! good night ! " 

The horses neighed and the oxen lowed, 

The sheep's "Baa! baa!" came over the road; 



WHERE GO THE BOATS? 113 

All seeming to say with a quiet delight, 
"Good little girl, good night! good night!" 

She did not say to the sun "Good night!" 
Though she saw him there, like a ball of light; 
For she knew that he had God's time to keep 
All over the world and never could sleep. 

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; 
The violets curtseyed and went to bed; 
And good little Lucy tied up her hair, 
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. 

And while on her pillow she softly lay, 
She knew nothing more till again it was day, 
And all things said to the beautiful sun, 
" Good morning ! good morning ! our work is begun ! " 
— Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes). 



WHERE GO THE BOATS? 

Dark brown is the river, 

Golden is the sand, 
It flows along forever, 

With trees on either hand. 



Green leaves a-floating, 

Castles of the foam, 
Boats of mine a-boating — 

Where will all come home? 



114 THE RIDDLER 

On goes the river 
And out past the mill, 

Away down the valley, 
Away down the hill. 



Away down the river, 

A hundred miles or more, 
Other little children 

Shall bring my boats ashore. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THE RIDDLER 

There went a rider on a roan, 

By rock and hill, and all alone, 

And asked of men these questions three: 

"Who may the greatest miller be? 

What baker baked ere Adam's birth? 

What washer washes the most on earth?" 



And still the rider went his way 
By cities old and castles gray, 
In morning red or moonlight dim, 
Unto the sea where ships do swim, 
And yet no man could answer him. 

He reined his horse upon the sand: 
"There is no lord in any land 



THE RIDDLER 1 15 

Can answer right my questions three: — 

Old fisher, sitting by the sea, 

Canst tell me where those craftsmen be?" 



Then spoke the fisher of the mere: 
" The earth is dark, the water clear, 
And where the sea against the land 
Is grinding rocks and shells to sand, 
I see the greatest miller's hand. 



"The baker who baked b*fore the morn 
When Adam was in Eden born, 
Is Heat, that God made long before, 
Which dries the sand upon the shore, 
And hardens it to rock once more. 



"And the water, falling night and day, 

Is the washer, washing all away; 

All melts in time before the rain, 

The mountains sink into the plain; 

So the great world comes and goes again." 



"Thou, Silver Beard, hast spoken well, 
With wisdom most commendable; 
So bind thee with this golden band!" 
The light was red upon the strand; 
The rider's road lay dark inland. 

— Charles Godfrey Leland. 



Il6 AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST 



AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST 

Tread lightly here, for here, 'tis said, 
When piping winds are hush'd around, 
A small note wakes from under ground, 
Where now his tiny bones are laid. 
No more in lone or leafless groves, 
With ruffled wing and faded breast, 
His friendless, homeless spirit roves; 
Gone to the world where birds are blest ! 
Where never cat glides o'er the green, 
Or schoolboy'6 giant form is seen; 
But love, and joy, and smiling Spring 
Inspire their little souls to sing. 

— Samuel Rogers. 



THE LOST DOLL 

I once had a sweet little doll, dears, 
The prettiest doll in the world; 

Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, 
And her hair was so charmingly curled. 

But I lost my poor little doll, dears, 
As I played on the heath one day; 

And I cried for more than a week, dears, 
But I never could find where she lay. 

I found my poor little doll, dears, 
As I played on the heath one day; 



THE TWO DOLLS 117 

Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, 
For her paint is all washed away, 

And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, 

And her hair not the least bit curled; 
Yet for old sake's sake, she is still, dears, 

The prettiest doll in the world. 

— Charles Kingsley. 



THE TWO DOLLS 

Two little dolls, so I've been told, 

Once lived on a shelf together — 
Her head and arms were all of wax, 

While his were of wool and leather. 
Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were blue, 

And her hair of a lovely golden hue; 
And, therefore, you see, she could never deign 

To notice a doll who was coarse and plain - 
One was for looks and one for wear, 

One was for use and one for show; 
And that's the way of the world, you know. 

When first they met on a nursery shelf — 

He greeted her most urbanely; 
She saw that he quite forgot his place 

And told him so very plainly — 
"Your birth is shown in your wooden face; 

Of waxen blood you have not a trace; 
So once for all be it understood 

That wax may never consort with wood." 
Then she said, with a freezing stare, 

"I'm for looks and you're for wear, 



Il8 QUEEN MAB 

You're for use, and I'm for show; " 

And that's the way of the world, you know. 

All on a fatal summer's day 

The pair for a walk were taken — 
Somebody left them amongst the hay 

And then they were both forsaken. 
Then while she lay in the noonday sun, 

The bloom on her cheeks began to run, 
Her eyes fell out, and her nose fell in, 

And she lost forever her rounded chin; 
Then he who had never turned a hair, 

Said, "You're for looks and I'm for wear, 
I'm for use and you're for show;" 

And that's the way of the world, you know. 



Unknown. 



QUEEN MAB 

A little fairy comes at night, 

Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, 

With silver spots upon her wings, 

And from the moon she flutters down. 

She has a little silver wand, 
And when a good child goes to bed 

She waves her hand from right to left, 
And makes a circle round its head. 

And then it dreams of pleasant things — 
Of fountains filled with fairy fish, 

And trees that bear delicious fruit, 
And bow their branches at a wish. 



QUEEN MAB 1 19 

Of arbors filled with dainty scents 
From lovely flowers that never fade; 

Bright flies that glitter in the sun, 

And glow-worms shining in the shade. 

And talking birds with gifted tongues, 

For singing songs and telling tales, 
And pretty dwarfs to show the way 

Through fairy hills and fairy dales. 

But when a bad child goes to bed, 

From left to right she weaves her rings, 

And then it dreams all through the night 
Of only ugly, horrid things ! 

Then lions come with glaring eyes, 

And tigers growl, a dreadful noise, 
And ogres draw their cruel knives, 

To shed the blood of girls and boys. 

Then stormy waves rush on to drown, 
Or raging flames come scorching round, 

Fierce dragons hover in the air, 
And serpents crawl along the ground. 

Then wicked children wake and weep, 
And wish the long black gloom away; 

But good ones love the dark, and find 
The night as pleasant as the day. 

— Thomas Hood. 



120 LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF 

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF 

Oh ! hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, 
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; 

The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, 
They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee. 

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; 

Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, 
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 

Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, 

When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; 

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE 

When children are playing alone on the green, 
In comes the playmate that never was seen. 
When children are happy and lonely and good, 
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. 

Nobody heard him and nobody saw, 

His is a picture you never could draw; 

But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, 

When children are happy and playing alone. 

He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, 
He sings when you twinkle the musical glass; 
Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, 
The Friend of the Children is sure to be by ! 



THE LAMPLIGHTER 121 

He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 
Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 
'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin 
That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. 

'Tis he when at night you go off to your bed, 
Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; 
For wherever they're lying in cupboard or shelf, 
'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself ! 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THE LAMPLIGHTER 

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky; 
It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by; 
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat, 
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street. 

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea, 

And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be; 

But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do, 

O Leerie, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you ! 

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, 
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; 
And O ! before you hurry by with ladder and with light, 
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night ! 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



122 BEFORE THE FIRE 

BEFORE THE FIRE 

Before the evening lamp is lit 
Beside the fire I love to sit, 
And watch the sparks that upward go 
Like fiery flakes of whirling snow. 

I sit and dream the time away, 
And as the embers fade and glow, 
I seem to see another day, 
With soldiers marching to and fro. 

I seem to hear the raging sea, 
The roar of winds in forests old, 
While stranger tales the fire tells me 
Than men in books have ever told. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THE BOY AND THE SHEEP 

"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why 
In the pleasant field you lie, 
Eating grass and daisies white 
From the morning till the night; 
Everything can something do, 
But what kind of use are you?" 

"Nay, my little master, nay, 
Do not serve me so, I pray ! 
Don't you see the wool that grows 
On my back to make your clothes? 
Cold, ah, very cold you'd be, 
If you had not wool from me. 



A THANKSGIVING FABLE 12^ 

"True, it seems a pleasant thing 
Nipping daisies in the spring; 
But what chilly nights I pass 
On the cold and scanty grass, 
Or pick my scanty dinner where 
All the ground is brown and bare ! 

"Then the farmer comes at last 
When the merry spring is past, 
Cuts my woolly fleece away, 
For your coat in wintry day. 
Little master, this is why 
In the pleasant fields I lie." 

— Ann Taylor. 



THE LITTLE ELF-MAN 

I met a little Elf-man, once, 
Down where the lilies blow. 
I asked him why he was so small 
And why he didn't grow. 

He slightly frowned, and with his eye 
He looked me through and through; 
"I'm quite as big, for me," said he, 
"As you are big for you." 

— John Kendrick Bangs. 



A THANKSGIVING FABLE 

It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn, 
And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of 
corn. 



124 FOREIGN CHILDREN 

"If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should 

be, 
When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me ! 
"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding 

me, 
With all his thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!" 
Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day: 
But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to 

stay. 

— Oliver Herford. 



FOREIGN CHILDREN 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 
Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

O ! don't you wish that you were me? 

You have seen the scarlet trees, 

And the lions over seas; 

You have eaten ostrich eggs, 

And turned the turtles off their legs. 

Such a life is very fine, 

But it's not so nice as mine; 
You must often, as you trod, 
Have wearied not to be abroad. 



You have curious things to eat, 
I am fed on proper meat; 



FOREIGN CHILDREN 

You must dwell beyond the foam, 
But I am safe and live at home. 



125 



Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 
Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

O ! don't you wish that you were me? 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 

THE OLD NAVY 

The captain stood on the carronade: " First lieutenant," says he, 

"Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me; 

I haven't the gift of the gab, my sons — because I'm bred to the 

sea; 
That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we. 
And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, 
I've fought 'gainst every odds — but I've gained the victory ! 

The ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take she, 
'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture we; 
I haven't the gift of the gab, my boys ; so each man to his gun ; 
If she's not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son. 
For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, 
I've fought 'gainst every odds — and I've gained the victory !" 

We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough ; 
"I little thought," said he, "that your men were of such stuff." 
Our captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to he; 
"I haven't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be. 
And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, 
I've fought 'gainst every odds — and I've gained the victory!" 

Our captain sent for all of us: "My merry men," said he, 
"I haven't the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be ! 
You've done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun; 

126 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 127 

If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd have flogged each 

mother's son. 
For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea, 
I'll fight 'gainst every odds — and I'll gain the victory !" 

— Frederick Marryat. 



KINDNESS TO ANIMALS 

Speak gently to the herring, and kindly to the calf, 

Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh ! 

Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, 

Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare ! 

O, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh, 

And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper, "Pie!" 

But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea — 

Be always kind to animals wherever you may be ! 

O, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram, 

And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb, 

Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp, 

Don't cheat the pike or ever try to pot the playful shrimp, 

Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly, 

Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry; 

O, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree — 

Be always kind to animals wherever you may be ! 

— Joseph Ashby-Sterry. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 

Good people all, of every sort, 

Give ear unto my song; 
And if you find it wondrous short, — 

It cannot hold you long. 



128 AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 

In Islington there was a man, 

Of whom the world might say, 
That still a godly race he ran — 

Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had, 

To comfort friends and foes; 
The naked every day he clad, — 

When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there be, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 

And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends; 

But when a pique began, 
The dog, to gain some private ends, 

Went mad, and bit the man. 

Around from all the neighboring streets 

The wondering neighbors ran, 
And swore the dog had lost his wits 

To bite so good a man ! 

The wound it seemed both sore and sad 

To every Christian eye; 
And while they swore the dog was mad, 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 
That showed the rogues they lied : — 

The man recovered of the bite, 
The dog it was that died. 

— Oliver Goldsmith. 



JOHNNY'S HISTORY LESSON 129 

JOHNNY'S HISTORY LESSON 

I think, of all the things at school 

A boy has got to do, 
That studying history, as a rule, 

Is worst of all, don't you? 
Of dates there are an awful sight, 

And, though I study day and night, 
There's only one I've got just right : — 

That's fourteen-ninety-two. 

Columbus crossed the Delaware 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
We whipped the British fair and square 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
At Concord and at Lexington 

We kept the red-coats on the run, 
While the band played "Johnny Get Your Gun," 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 

Pat Henry with his dying breath 

In fourteen-ninety-two, 
Said, "Give me liberty or death," 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
And Barbara Frietchie, so 'tis said, 

Cried, "Shoot if you must this old gray head, 
But I'd rather 'twould be your own instead," 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 

The Pilgrims came to Plymouth Rock 

In fourteen-ninety-two, 
And the Indians standing on the dock 

Asked, "What are you going to do?" 
And they said, "We seek your harbor drear 

That our children's children's children dear 

K 



130 THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 

May boast that their forefathers landed here 
In fourteen-ninety-two." 

Miss Pocahontas saved the life, 

In fourteen-ninety-two, 
Of John Smith and became his wife 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
And the Smith tribe started then and there, 

And now there are John Smiths everywhere; 
But they didn't have any Smiths to spare 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 

Kentucky was settled by Daniel Boone 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
And I think the cow jumped over the moon 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 
Ben Franklin flew his kite so high 

He drew the lightning from the sky, 
And Washington couldn't tell a lie 

In fourteen-ninety-two. 

— Nixon Waterman. 

Copyrighted by Edgar S. Werner & Co. Reprinted by permission. 



THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 

The sun was shining on the sea, 

Shining with all his might: 
He did his very best to make 

The billows smooth and bright — 
And this was odd, because it was 

The middle of the night. 

5)C 5JC 2{C 5jS Jj* 

The Walrus and the Carpenter 
Were walking close at hand; 



THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 131 

They wept like anything to see 

Such quantities of sand: 
"If this were only cleared away," 

They said, "it would be grand ! " 

"If seven maids with seven mops 

Swept it for half a year, 
Do you suppose," the Walrus said, 

"That they could get it clear?" 
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter, 

And shed a bitter tear. 

" O Oysters, come and walk with us!" 

The Walrus did beseech. 
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, 

Along the briny beach ! 
We cannot do with more than four, 

To give a hand to each." 

The eldest Oyster looked at him, 

But never a word he said; 
The eldest Oyster winked his eye, 

And shook his heavy head — 
Meaning to say he did not choose 

To leave the oyster-bed. 

But four young Oysters hurried up, 

All eager for the treat; 
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, 

Their shoes w T ere clean and neat — 
And this was odd, because, you know, 

They hadn't any feet. 

Four other Oysters followed them, 
And yet another four; 



132 THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 

And thick and fast they came at last, 
And more, and more, and more — 

All hopping through the frothy waves, 
And scrambling to the shore. 

The Walrus and the Carpenter 

Walked on a mile or so, 
And then they rested on a rock 

Conveniently low: 
And all the little Oysters stood 

And waited in a row. 

"The time has come," the Walrus said, 
"To talk of many things: 

Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax 
Of cabbages — and kings — 

And why the sea is boiling hot — 
And whether pigs have wings." 

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, 
"Before we have our chat; 

For some of us are out of breath, 
And all of us are fat ! " 

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter: 
They thanked him much for that. 

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, 
"Is what we chiefly need; 

Pepper and vinegar besides 
Are very good indeed — 

Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear, 
We can begin to feed." 

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried, 
Turning a little blue. 



THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 133 

"After such kindness, that would be 

A dismal thing to do ! " 
"The night is fine," the Walrus said. 

"Do you admire the view? 

"It was so kind of you to come! 

And you are very nice ! " 
The Carpenter said nothing but 

"Cut us another slice; 
I wish you were not quite so deaf — 

I've had to ask you twice ! " 

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said, 

"To play them such a trick, 
After we've brought them out so far, 

And made them trot so quick!" 
The Carpenter said nothing but 

"The butter's spread too thick!" 

"I weep for you," the Walrus said, 

" I deeply sympathize." 
With sobs and tears he sorted out 

Those of the largest size, 
Holding his pocket-handkerchief 

Before his streaming eyes. 

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter, 

"You've had a pleasant run ! 
Shall we be trotting home again?" 

But answer came there none — 
And this was scarcely odd, because 

They'd eaten every one. 

— Lewis Carroll. 



RELIGIOUS AND ETHICAL SELECTIONS 

THE ELIXIR 

Teach me, my God and King, 

In all things Thee to see, 
And what I do in anything, 

To do it as for Thee. 

#f* 5JC 5JC JfC 

All may of Thee partake: 

Nothing can be so mean 
Which with this tincture (for Thy sake) 

Will not grow bright and clean. 
A servant with this clause 

Makes drudgery divine: 
Who sweeps a room as by Thy laws, 

Makes that and th' action fine. 
This is the famous stone 

That turneth all to gold: 
For that which God doth touch and own 

Cannot for less be told. 

— George Herbert. 



AT MORNING 

The day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating 
concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to perform 
them with laughter and kind faces ; let cheerfulness abound with 

i34 



RECESSIONAL 135 

industry; give us to go blithely on our business all this day, bring 
us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored, and 
grant us in the end the gift of sleep. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



PSALM I 



Bless'd is the man who hath not walk'd astray 
In counsel of the wicked, and i' th' way 
Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat 
Of scorners hath not sat. But in the great 
Jehovah's law is ever his delight, 
And in his law he studies day and night. 
He shall be as a tree which planted grows 
By watery streams, and in his season knows 
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall, 
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all. 
Not so the wicked, but as chaff which, fanned, 
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand 
In judgment, or abide their trial then, 
Nor sinners in th' assembly of just men. 
For the Lord knows th' upright way of the just, 
And the way of bad men to ruin must. 

— John Milton. 



RECESSIONAL 

God of our fathers, known of old — 
Lord of our far-flung battle line — 

Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine — 



136 RECESSIONAL 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

The tumult and the shouting dies — 
The captains and the kings depart — 

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, 
An humble and a contrite heart. 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

Far-called, our navies melt away, — 
On dune and headland sinks the fire — 

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! 

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — 

Such boasting as the Gentiles use, 
Or lesser breeds without the law — 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard — 

All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, 

For frantic boast and foolish word, 

Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! — Amen. 

— Rudyard Kipling. 



STRONG SON OF GOD 137 

STRONG SON OF GOD 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 
Whom we, that have not seen Thy face, 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 

Believing where we cannot prove. 

Thine are these orbs of light and shade; 

Thou madest Life in man and brute; 

Thou madest Death ; and lo, thy foot 
Is on the skull which Thou hast made. 

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust; 

Thou madest man, he knows not why; 

He thinks he was not made to die; 
And Thou hast made him: Thou art just. 

Our little systems have their day; 

They have their day and cease to be, 

They are but broken lights of Thee; 
And Thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

We have but faith : we cannot know ; 

For knowledge is of things we see; 

And yet we trust it comes from Thee, 
A beam in darkness : let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more; 

But more of reverence in us dwell; 

That mind and soul, according well, 
May make one music as before. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (In Memoriam). 



138 "WHEN ALL THY MERCIES" 

"WHEN ALL THY MERCIES " 

When all Thy mercies, O my God! 

My rising soul surveys, 
Transported with the view, I'm lost 

In wonder, love, and praise. 

Unnumbered comforts to my soul 

Thy tender care bestowed, 
Before my infant heart conceived 

From Whom those comforts flowed. 

When, in the slippery paths of youth, 

With heedless steps I ran, 
Thine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe 

And led me up to man. 

Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts 

My daily thanks employ; 
Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 

That tastes those gifts with joy. 

Through every period of my life, 

Thy goodness I'll pursue; 
And after death, in distant world 

The glorious theme renew. 

Through all eternity, to Thee 

A joyful song I'll raise; 
For, oh, eternity's too short 

To utter all Thy praise ! 

— Joseph Addison. 



PROSPICE 139 

CROSSING THE BAR 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me ! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 

When I put out to sea. 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 

Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 

Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 

And after that the dark ! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell, 

When I embark. 

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 

When I have crossed the bar. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



PROSPICE 



Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, 

The mist in my face, 
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 

I am nearing the place, 
The powers of the night, the press of the storm, 

The post of the foe; 
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go: 



140 A CREED 

For the journey is done and the summit attained, 

And the barriers fall, 
Tho' a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, 

The reward of it all. 
I was ever a fighter, so — one more fight, 

The best and the last ! 
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 

And bade me creep past. 
No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers 

The heroes of old, 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 

Of pain, darkness, and cold. 
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, 

The black minute's at end, 
And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, 

Shall dwindle, shall blend, 
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, 

Then a light, then thy breast, 
O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, 

And with God be the rest ! 

— Robert Browning. 



A CREED 



There is a destiny that makes us brothers: 

None goes his way alone: 
All that we send into the lives of others 

Comes back into our own. 

I care not what his temples or his creeds, 

One thing holds firm and fast — 
That into his fateful heap of days and deeds 

The soul of man is cast. 

— Edwin Markham. 



A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD 141 

INFINITE DEPTHS 

The little pool, in street or field apart, 

Glasses the deep heavens and the rushing storm; 

And into the silent depths of every heart, 
The Eternal throws its awful shadow-form. 

— Edwin Markham. 



A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD 

They say that God lives very high ! 

But if you look above the pines 
You cannot see our God. And why? 

And if you dig down in the mines 
You never see Him in the gold, 
Though from Him all that's glory shines. 

God is so good, He wears a fold 

Of heaven and earth across His face — 
Like secrets kept, for love, untold. 

But still I feel that His embrace 

Slides down by thrills, through all things made, 
Through sight and sound of every place: 

As if my tender mother laid 

On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure, 
Half- waking me at night; and said 

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" 
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



142 LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS 

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform; 
He plants His footsteps in the sea 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill; 
He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; 

The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your head. 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 

But trust Him for His grace; 
Behind a frowning providence 

He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 

And scan His work in vain; 
God is His own interpreter, 

And He will make it plain. 

— William Cowper. 



"THOU ART, O GOD" 143 

"THOU ART, O GOD" 

Thou art, O God ! the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from Thee. 
Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, 
And all things bright and fair are Thine ! 

When day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the opening clouds of even 

And we can almost think we gaze 

Thro' golden vistas into Heaven — 
Those hues, that make the sun's decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 

When night, with wings of starry gloom, 

O'ershadows all the earth and skies 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes — 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 

The youthful spring around us breathes, 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 

And every flower the summer wreathes 

Is born beneath that kindling eye. 
Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are Thine. 

— Thomas Moore. 



144 CONSIDER 

CONSIDER 

Consider 
The lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief — 

We are as they; 
Like them we fade away, 

As doth a leaf. 

Consider 
The sparrows of the air, of small account: 

Our God doth view 
Whether they fall or mount — 

He guards us too. 

Consider 
The lilies, that do neither spin nor toil, 

Yet are most fair — 
What profits all this care, 

And all this coil? 

Consider 
The birds, that have no barn nor harvest- weeks; 

God gives them food — 
Much more our Father seeks 
To do us good. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



"O YET WE TRUST!" 

O yet we trust that somehow, good 
Will be the final goal of ill; 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 

Defects of doubt and taints of blood. 



REBECCA'S HYMN 1 45 

That nothing walks with aimless feet; 

That not one life shall be destroyed, 

Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
When God hath made the pile complete; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain; 

That not a moth with vain desire 

Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, 
Or but subserves another's gain. 

Behold, we know not anything ; 
I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last — far off — at last, to all, — 

And every winter change to spring. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



REBECCA'S HYMN 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved, 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 
And trump and timbrel answered keen, 

And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 
With priest's and warrior's voice between. 

No portents now our foes amaze, 
Forsaken Israel wanders lone; 



146 ADAM'S AXD EVE'S MORNING HYMN 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 
And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen; 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning, and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, the gentile's scorn; 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, the blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize; 
A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 

— Sir Walter Scott {Ivanhoe). 



ADAM'S AND EVE'S MORNING HYMN 

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good ! 

Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, 

Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! 

Unspeakable, Who sitt'st above these heavens 

To us invisible, or dimly seen 

In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare 

Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 

Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 

Angels; for ye behold Him, and with songs 



A CHILD'S PRAYER 147 

And choral symphonies, day without night, 

Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in heaven, 

On earth, join all ye creatures to extol 

Him first, Him last, Him midst; and without end. 

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 

Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, 

With every plant in sign of worship wave. 

Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise. 

Join voices all, ye living souls; ye birds, 

That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, 

Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. 

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 

The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 

Witness if I be silent morn or even, 

To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, 

Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. 

Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still 

To give us only good; and if the night 

Have gathered aught of evil or concealed, 

Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark ! 

— John Milton {Paradise Lost). 



A CHILD'S PRAYER 

God make my life a little light, 
Within the world to glow — 

A tiny flame that burneth bright, 
Wherever I may go. 

God make my life a little flower, 
That bringeth joy to all, 

Content to bloom in native bower, 
Although its place be small. 



148 KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM 

God make my life a little song, 

That comforteth the sad, 
That helpeth others to be strong, 

And makes the singer glad. 

— M. Betham Edwards. 



KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM 

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
Have ofttimes no connection : Knowledge dwells . 
In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own — 
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
The mere materials with which wisdom builds, 
Till smooth'd and squared and fitted to its place, 
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 

— Cowper. 



CONTENT 



Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 

O sweet content ! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? 

O punishment ! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed, 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
O sweet content, O sweet, O sweet content ! 



WAITING 149 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
Honest labor bears a lovely face. 
****** 
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? 

O sweet content ! 
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 

O punishment! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king. 
O sweet content, O sweet, O sweet content ! 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
Honest labor bears a lovely face. 

— Thomas Dekker. 



WAITING 



Serene, I fold my hands and wait, 
Nor care for wind, or tide or sea; 

I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, 
For lo ! my own shall come to me. 

I stay my haste, I make delays, 
For what avails this eager pace? 

I stand amid the eternal ways, 
And what is mine shall know my face. 

Asleep, awake, by night or day, 
The friends I seek are seeking me; 

No wind can drive my bark astray, 
Nor change the tide of destiny. 

What matter if I stand alone ? 
I wait with joy the coming years; 



150 THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE 

My heart shall reap where it has sown, 
And garner up its fruit of tears. 

The waters know their own and draw 
The brook that springs in yonder height; 

So flows the good with equal law 
Unto the soul of pure delight. 

The stars come nightly to the sky; 

The tidal wave comes to the sea; 
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, 

Can keep my own away from me. 

— John Burroughs. 



THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE 

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky ; 
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that 
shall break it must die. 

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip ; drink deeply but never too 

deep; 
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is 

for sleep. 

The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers 

are grown, 
Remember the Wolf is a hunter, — go forth and get food of thine 

own 

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go 

from the trail, 
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words 

shall prevail. 



"IF TO DO WERE AS EASY" 151 

Now these are the laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are 

they; 
But the head and the hoof of the Law, and the haunch and the 

hump is, — Obey ! 

— Rudyard Kipling. 



OBEDIENCE 

If you're told to do a thing, 

And mean to do it really, 
Never let it be by halves; 

Do it fully, freely ! 

Do not make a poor excuse, 

Waiting, weak, unsteady; 
All obedience worth the name, 

Must be prompt and ready. 

— Phcebe Cary. 



"IF TO DO WERE AS EASY" 

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels 
had been churches and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It 
is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier 
teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty 
to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for 
the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree : such a hare 
is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good-counsel 
the cripple. 

— William Shakespeare (Merchant of Venice). 



152 "'TVS A COMMON PROOF 



"'TIS A COMMON PROOF" 

But 'tis a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; 
But, when he once attains the upmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. 

— William Shakespeare (Julius Casar). 



COWARDS 



Cowards die many times before their deaths; 

The valiant never taste of death but once. 

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 

It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 

Seeing that death, a necessary end, 

Will come when it will come. 

— William Shakespeare (Julius Ccesar). 



"THERE IS A TIDE" 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 

— William Shakespeare (Julius Ccesar) , 



AIMS IN LIFE 153 

THE CYNIC 

A man will be what his most cherished feelings are. If he en- 
courage a noble generosity, every feeling will be enriched by it ; 
if he nurse bitter and envenomed thoughts, his own spirit will 
absorb the poison, and he will crawl among men as a burnished 
adder, whose life is mischief, and whose errand is death. 

He who hunts for flowers will find flowers; and he who loves 

weeds may find weeds. 

— Henry Ward Beecher. 



AIMS IN LIFE 

A man is born to expend every particle of strength that God 
Almighty has given him in doing the work he finds he is fit for; 
to stand up to it to the last breath of life and do his best. We are 
called upon to do that ; and the reward we all get — which we 
are perfectly sure of, if we have merited it — is that we have got 
the work done, or at least that we have tried to do the work. For 
that is a great blessing in itself, and I should say there is not very 
much more reward than that going in this world. Be loyal and 
modest. 

On the whole, I would bid you stand up to your work, what- 
ever it may be, and not be afraid of it; not in sorrows or con- 
tradictions to yield, but to push on toward the goal. And do not 
suppose that people are hostile to you or have you at ill will, in 
the world. In general, you will rarely find anybody designedly 
doing you ill. You may feel often as if the whole world were 
obstructing you, setting itself against you ; but you will find that to 
mean only that the world is traveling in a different way from you, 
and, rushing on in its own path, heedlessly treads on you. 

If you find many people who are hard and indifferent to you in 
a world which you consider to be inhospitable and cruel, you will 



154 A PARABLE 

also find there are noble hearts who will look kindly on you ; and 
their help will be precious to you beyond price. You will get 
good and evil as you go on, and have the success that has been 
appointed you. 

— Thomas Carlyle. 



A PARABLE 

Worn and footsore was the Prophet, 
When he reached the holy hill; 

"God has left the earth," he murmured, 
"Here His presence lingers still. 

"God of all the olden prophets, 
Wilt Thou speak with me no more? 

Have I not as truly served Thee 
As Thy chosen ones of yore? 

"Hear me, guider of my fathers, 
Lo ! a humble heart is mine ; 

By Thy mercy I beseech Thee 
Grant Thy servant but a sign ! " 

Bowing then his head, he listened 

For an answer to his prayer; 
No loud burst of thunder followed, 

Not a murmur stirred the air : — 

But the tuft of moss before him 

Opened while he waited yet, 
And, from out the rock's hard bosom, 

Sprang a tender violet. 

"God! I thank Thee," said the Prophet; 
"Hard of heart and blind was I, 




WORK 155 

Looking to the holy mountain 
For the gift of prophecy. 

"Still Thou speakest with Thy children 

Freely as in eld sublime, 
Humbleness, and love, and patience, 

Still give dominion over Time." 

— James Russell Lowell. 



PRAYER 

More things are wrought by prayer 

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day; 

For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain 

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them friend? 

For so the whole round earth is everywhere 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



WORK 



The only happiness a brave man ever troubled himself with 
asking much about, was happiness enough to get his work done. 
Not "I can't eat!" but, "I can't work" — that was the burden 
of all wise complaining among men. It is, after all, the one unhap- 
piness of a man — that he cannot work — that he cannot get his 
destiny as a man fulfilled. Behold, the day is passing swiftly over, 
our life is passing swiftly away, and the night cometh, wherein 
no man can work. The night once come, our happiness, our 



156 MAXIMS OF BALOO 

unhappiness, — it is all abolished, vanished, clean gone ; a thing 
that has been not of the slightest consequence. But our work ! 
— behold, that is not abolished, that has not vanished; our work, 
behold, it remains, or the want of it remains — for endless times 
and eternities, remains ; and that is now the sole question with us 
forevermore ! Brief brawling Day, with its noisy phantasms, 
its poor paper-crowns, tinsel-light, is gone, and divine ever- 
lasting Night, with her star-diadems, with her silence and her 
veracities, is come. 

— Thomas Carlyle. 



MAXIMS OF BALOO 

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's 

pride — 
Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss of 

his hide. 

If you find that the bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed 

Sambhur can gore; 
You need not stop work to inform us: we knew it ten seasons 

before. 

Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as sister and 

brother, 
For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is their 

mother. 

"There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his 

earliest kill; 
But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think 

and be still. 

— Rudyard Kipling (The Jungle Book). 






WORK 157 

REST 

Rest is not quitting, the busy career; 
Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere: 

'Tis the brook's motion, clear without strife; 

Floating to ocean, after its life: 
'Tis loving and serving, the highest and best; 
'Tis onward, unswerving, and this is true rest. 

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 



MAN IS HIS OWN STAR 

Man is his own star, and the soul that can 
Render an honest and a perfect man 

Commands all light, all influence, all fate; 

Nothing to him falls early or too late; 
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. 

— Francis Beaumont. 



ECONOMY 



Economy is the parent of integrity, of liberty, and of ease ; and 
the beauteous sister of temperance, of cheerfulness, and health; 
and profuseness is a cruel and crafty demon that gradually involves 
her followers in dependence and debts, that is, fetters them with 
"irons that enter into their souls." 

— Samuel Johnson. 

♦ 

WORK 

No man is born into the world whose work 
Is not born with him; there is always work 



158 REPUTATION 

And tools to work withal, for those who will; 
And blessed are the horny hands of toil; 
The busy world shoves angrily aside 
The man who stands with arms akimbo set, 
Until occasion tells him what to do; 
And he who waits to have his task marked out, 
Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled. 
— James Russell Lowell (A Glance behind the Curtain). 



REPUTATION 

The purest treasure mortal times afford 

Is spotless reputation; that away 

Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 

A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest 

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 

Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one ; 

Take honor from me, and my life is done : 

Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try, 

In that I live, and for that will I die. 

— William Shakespeare {Richard II) . 



THE CHOIR INVISIBLE 

O may I join the choir invisible 

Of those immortal dead who live again 

In minds made better by their presence ; live 

In pulses stirred to generosity, 

In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 

For miserable aims that end with self, 

In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars 



THE PLEASURE OF HOPE 159 

And with their mild persistence urge men's search 
To vaster issues. So to live is heaven : 
To make undying music in the world, 
Breathing a beauteous order that controls 
With growing sway the growing life of man. 
So we inherit that sweet purity 
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized 
With widening retrospect that bred despair. 

— George Eliot. 



THE PLEASURE OF HOPE 

At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue, 
And every form that fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heavenly light, 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight: 
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way 
That calls each slumbering passion into play. 
Waked by thy touch, I see thy sister band 
On tip-toe watching, start at thy command, 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, 
To Pleasure's path or Glory's bright career. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



160 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 

OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 

I met a traveller from an antique land, 

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone, 
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown 
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command, 

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 

The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings; 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair;" 

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 

The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



FORBEARANCE 

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? 

Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? 

At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse ? 

Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? 

And loved so well a high behavior, 

In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, 

Nobility more nobly to repay ? 

Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THINGS THAT NEVER DIE l6l 

THINGS THAT NEVER DIE 

The pure, the bright, the beautiful, 

That stirred our hearts in youth, 
The impulses to wordless prayer, 

The dreams of love and truth, 
The longings after something lost, 

The spirit's yearning cry, 
The strivings after better hopes — 

These things can never die. 

The timid hand stretched forth to aid 

A brother in his need; 
A kindly word in grief's dark hour 

That proves a friend indeed; 
The plea for mercy softly breathed, 

When justice threatens high, 
The sorrow of a contrite heart, — 

These things shall never die. 

The cruel and the bitter word, 

That wounded as it fell; 
The chilling want of sympathy, 

We feel, but never tell; 
The hard repulse that chills the heart, 

Whose hopes were bounding high, 
In an unfading record kept — 
These things shall never die. 

Let nothing pass, for every hand 

Must find some work to do, 
Lose not a chance to waken love — 

Be firm, and just, and true; 
So shall a light that cannot fade 



162 SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY 

Beam on thee from on high, 
And angel voices say to thee: 
"These things shall never die." 

— Charles Dickens. 



SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head: 
And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything: 

I would not change it. 

— William Shakespeare (As You Like It). 



ALL SERVICE RANKS THE SAME WITH GOD 

All service ranks the same with God: 

If now, as formerly He trod 

Paradise, His presence fills 

Our earth; each only as God wills 

Can work — God's puppets, best and worst, 

Are we; there is no last nor first. 

Say not "a small event ! " Why "small " ? 
Costs it more pain that this, ye call 
A "great event," should come to pass, 
Than that? Untwine me from the mass 
Of deeds which make up life, one deed 
Power shall fall short in or exceed ! 

— Robert Browning (Pip pa Passes). 



TIME 163 

ARGUMENT 

Avoid dispute as much as possible. In order to appear easy 
and well bred in conversation, you may assure yourself that it re- 
quires more wit, as well as more good humor, to improve than to 
contradict the notions of another; but if you are at any time obliged 
to enter on an argument, give your reasons with the utmost cool- 
ness and modesty, two things which scarce ever fail of making 
an impression on the hearers. Besides, if you are neither dog- 
matical, nor show by your actions or words that you are full cf 
yourself, all will the more heartily rejoice at your victory. Nay, 
should you be pinched in your argument, you may make your re- 
treat with a very good grace. You were never positive and are 
now glad to be better informed. 

— Joseph Addison. 

♦ 

TIME 

"Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall, 

Thou aged carle so stern and gray? 

Dost thou its former pride recall, 

Or ponder how it passed away ? " 

"Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried; 

"So long enjoyed, so oft misused — 

Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 

Desired, neglected, and accused ! 

Before my breath, like blazing flax, 

Man and his marvels pass away; 

And changing empires wane and wax, 

Are founded, flourish, and decay. 

Redeem mine hours — the space is brief — 

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, 

And measureless thy joy or grief, 

When Time and Thou shalt part forever." 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



1 64 CHEERFULNESS 

CHEERFULNESS 

Give us, O give us the man who sings at his work ! Be his oc- 
cupation what it may, he is equal to any of those who follow the 
same pursuit in silent sullenness. He will do more in the same 
time — he will do it better — he will persevere longer. One is 
scarcely sensible of fatigue whilst he marches to music. The 
very stars are said to make harmony as they revolve in their spheres. 
Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness, altogether past calcula- 
tion its power of endurance. Efforts, to be permanently useful, 
must be uniformly joyous — a spirit all sunshine — graceful from 
very gladness — beautiful, because bright. 

— Thomas Carlyle. 



FAIRY SONG 

Shed no tear ! O shed no tear ! 
The flowers will bloom another year. 
Weep no more ! O weep no more ! 
Young buds sleep in the root's white core. 
Dry your eyes ! O dry your eyes ! 
For I was taught in Paradise 
To ease my breast of melodies — 
Shed no tear. 

Overhead ! Look overhead ! 
'Mong the blossoms white and red — 
Look up, look up. I flutter now 
On this flush pomegranate bough. 
See me ! 'tis this silvery bell 
Ever cures the good man's ill. 
Shed no tear ! O shed no tear ! 
The flowers will bloom another year. 



"THE HONEST HEART" 165 

Adieu, adieu, — I fly, adieu, 
I vanish in the heaven's blue — 
Adieu, adieu ! 

— John Keats. 



"THEN GENTLY SCAN" 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler, sister woman; 
Tho' they may gang a kennen wrang; 

To step aside is human: 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us; 
He knows each chord — its various tone ; 

Each spring — its various bias ; 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it: 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 

— Robert Burns. 



"THE HONEST HEART" 

The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kicks the ba', 

Has ay some cause to smile: 
And mind still, you'll find still, 



166 "THE HONEST HEART" 

A comfort this nae sma'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hall? 

Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 

In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 

With honest joy our hearts will bound, 

To see the coming year. 
It's no in titles nor in rank; 
It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest: 
It's no in makin' muckle mair; 
It's no in books; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest: 

If happiness hae not her seat, 

And center in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 

But never can be blest: 
Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy long; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 

That makes us right or wrong. 

— Robert Burns. 



ILL FARES THE LAND 167 

THE PILGRIM 

Who would true valor see 
Let him come hither ! 
One here will constant be, 
Come wind, come weather: 
There's no discouragement 
Shall make him once relent 
His first-avow'd intent 
To be a Pilgrim. 

Whoso beset him round 
With dismal stories, 
Do but themselves confound; 
His strength the more is. 
No lion can him fright; 
He'll with a giant fight; 
But he will have a right 
To be a Pilgrim. 

Nor enemy, nor friend, 
Can daunt his spirit; 
He knows he at the end 
Shall Life inherit : — 
Then, fancies, fly away; 
He'll not fear what men say; 
He'll labor, night and day, 
To be a Pilgrim. 

— John Bunyan. 



ILL FARES THE LAND 

III fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; 



1 68 THE RAINY DAY 

Princes and lords may flourish or may fade — 
A breath can make them as a breath has made; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

— Oliver Goldsmith {The Deserted Village). 



THE RAINY DAY 

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary; 
The vine still clings to the moldering wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 

And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary; 
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past, 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 

And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 

Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



MEMORY OF GOOD DEEDS 

The memory of good deeds will ever stay, 
A lamp to light us on the darkened way, 



AS A VIOLET'S GENTLE EYE 169 

A music to the ear on clamoring street, 

A cooling well amid the noonday heat, 

A scent of green boughs blown through narrow walls, 

A feel of rest when quiet evening falls. 

— Edwin Markham. 



BE USEFUL 

Be useful where thou livest, that they may 
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. 
Find out men's wants and will, 
And meet them there. All worldly joys grow less 
To the one joy of doing kindness. 

— George Herbert. 



AS A VIOLET'S GENTLE EYE 

As a violet's gentle eye 

Gazes on the azure sky, 

Until its hue grows like what it beholds; 

As a gray and empty mist 

Lies like solid amethyst, 

Over the western mountain it enfolds, 

When the sunset sleeps 

Upon its snow; 

As a strain of sweetest sound 

Wraps itself the wind around, 

Until the voiceless wind be music too; 

So aught dark, vain, and dull, 

Basking in what is beautiful, 

Is full of light and love. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley, 



170 "MAN WHO MAN WOULD BE" 

"MAN WHO MAN WOULD BE" 

Man who man would be 
Must rule the empire of himself; in it 
Must be supreme, establishing his throne 
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy 
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



THOUGHTS FOR A YOUNG MAN 

In this country most young men are poor. Time is the rock 
from which they are to hew out their fortune, and health, enter- 
prise, and integrity, the instruments with which to do it. For 
this, diligence in business, abstinence from pleasures, privation, 
even, of everything that does not endanger health, are to be joy- 
fully welcomed and borne. WTien we look around us and see 
how much of the wickedness of the world springs from poverty, 
it seems to sanction all honest efforts for the acquisition of an 
independence ; but when an independence is acquired, then comes 
the moral crisis, then comes an Ithuriel test, which shows whether 
a man is higher than a common man, or lower than a common 
reptile. In the duty of accumulation — and I call it a duty in 
the most strict and literal signification of the word — all below 
a competence is most valuable, and its acquisition most laudable ; 
but all above a fortune is a misfortune. It is a misfortune to him 
who amasses it; for it is a voluntary continuance in the harness 
of a beast of burden when the soul should enfranchise and lift itself 
up into a higher region of pursuits and pleasures. It is a persis- 
tence in the work of providing goods for the body after the body 
has already been provided for; and it is a denial of the higher 
demands of the soul, after the time has arrived, and the means 
are possessed, of fulfilling those demands. 

— Horace Mann. 



A CONSOLATION 171 

IF ALL THE SKIES 

If all the skies were sunshine, 

Our faces would be fain 
To feel once more upon them 

The cooling plash of rain. 

If all the world were music, 

Our hearts would often long 
For one sweet strain of silence, 

To break the endless song.. 

If life were always merry, 

Our souls would seek relief, 
And rest from weary laughter 

In the quiet arms of grief. 

— Henry van Dyke. 



A CONSOLATION 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With that I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
Haply I think on thee, — and then my state, 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; 
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
— William Shakespeare. 



172 DAY 

DAY 

Day ! 

Faster and more fast, 

O'er night's brim, day boils at last; 

Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim 

Where spurting and suppressed it lay; 

For not a froth-flake touched the rim 

Of yonder gap in the solid gray 

Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; 

But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, 

Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, 

Rose, reddened, and its seething breast 

Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. 

Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee, 

A mite of my twelve-hours' treasure, 

The least of thy gazes or glances, 

(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) 

One of thy choices or one of thy chances, 

(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) 

My Day, if I squander such labor or leisure, 

Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me. 

— Browning (Pippa Passes). 



THE HOUSEKEEPER 

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, 
Carries his house with him where'er he goes; 
Peeps out, — and if there comes a shower of rain, 
Retreats to his small domicile again. 
Touch but a tip of him, a horn — 'tis well, — 
He curls up in his sanctuary shell. 



CARCASSONNE 173 

He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay 
Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day. 
Himself he boards and lodges; both invites 
And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o'nights. 
He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure 
Chattels; himself is his own furniture, 
And his sole riches; wheresoe'er he roam — 
Knock when you will, — he's sure to be at home. 

— Charles Lamb. 



CARCASSONNE 

"I'm an old man; I'm sixty years; 

I've worked hard all my life, 
Yet never have gained my heart's desire, 

With all my toil and strife. 
Ah, well I see that here below 

There is perfect joy for none; 
My dearest wish is unfulfilled; 

I have never seen Carcassonne ! 

" The City lies almost in sight, 

Beyond the mountains blue; 
But yet to reach it one must needs 

Five weary leagues pursue. 
'Tis said that in that favored place 

All days are holidays, 
With happy folks in robes of white J 

Passing along the ways; 
'Tis said there are castles there as grand 

As those of Babylon, 
And a Bishop and two Generals there, — 

I never shall see Carcassonne ! 



174 A RULE FOR BIRD'S NESTERS 

" The Vicar a hundred times is right, — 

We are weak and foolish all; 
And in his sermon he teaches us 

That ambition makes men fall. 
But yet if I could somehow find 

Two days under Autumn's sun — 
My God ! but I would die content 

After seeing Carcassonne ! " 

An aged peasant thus complained, 

Bowed down with toil and care. 
I said to him, "Arise, my friend, 

Together we'll go there." 
We set out on the morrow morn; 

But our journey was scarce begun 
When the old man died upon the road, — 

He had never seen Carcassonne ! 
All mortals have their Carcassonne. 

— Gust ave Nadaud. 



A RULE FOR BIRD'S NESTERS 

The robin and the red-breast, 

The robin and the wren, 
If ye take out o' their nest, 

Ye'll never thrive again ! 

The robin and the red-breast, 

The martin and the swallow; 
If ye touch one o' their eggs, 

Bad luck will surely follow ! 

— Old Rhyme. 



THE SOCIETY OF GOOD BOOKS 1 75 

THE SOCIETY OF GOOD BOOKS 

We cannot know whom we would; and those whom we know, 
we cannot have at our side when we most need them. Yet there 
is a society continually open to us, of people who will talk to us 
as long as we like, — talk to us in the best words they can choose, 
and of the things nearest their hearts. And this society, because 
it is so numerous and so gentle, and can be kept waiting around 
us all day long, — kings and statesmen lingering patiently, not 
to grant audience, but to gain it ! — in those plainly furnished and 
narrow anterooms, our book-case shelves, — we make no account 
of that company, — perhaps never listen to a word they would 
say, all day long! 

This eternal court is always open to you, with its society wide 
as the world, multitudinous as its days, the chosen and the mighty 
of every place and time. Into that you may enter always; in 
that you may take fellowship and rank according to your wish ; 
from that, once entered into it, you can never be an outcast but 
by your own fault. 

It is open to labor and to merit, but to nothing else. No wealth 
will bribe, no name overawe, no artifice deceive, the guardian of 
those Elysian gates. In the deep sense, no vile or vulgar person 
ever enters there. 

"Do you deserve to enter? Pass. Do you ask to be the com- 
panion of nobles? Make yourself noble, and you shall be. Do 
you long for the conversation of the wise ? Learn to understand 
it, and you shall hear it. But on other terms ? No. If you will 
not rise to us, we cannot stoop to you." 

— John Ruskin {Sesame and Lilies) . 



176 VIRTUE 

VIRTUE 

Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky, 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose ! whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is ever in its grave; 
And thou must die. 

Sweet spring ! full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie, 
My music shows ye have your closes; 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
Like seasoned timber, never gives; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

— George Herbert. 



THE SHEPHERD BOY SINGS IN THE VALLEY OF 
HUMILIATION 

He that is down needs fear no fall, 

He that is low, no pride; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 



I am content with what I have, 
Little be it or much: 



THE ANT AND THE CRICKET 177 

And, Lord, contentment still I crave, 
Because Thou savest such. 

Fullness to such a burden is 

That go on pilgrimage: 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age. 

— John Bunyan. 



SERVICE 



Small service is true service while it lasts ; 

Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one; 

The daisy by the shadow that it casts, 

Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. 

— William Wordsworth. 



PROCRASTINATION 

Be wise to-day: 'tis madness to defer; 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. 
Procrastination is the thief of time; 
Year after year it steals till all are fled, 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 

— Edward Young. 



THE ANT AND THE CRICKET 

A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing 

Through the warm sunny months of gay summer and spring, 

N 



178 ACTIONS 

Began to complain, when he found that at home, 
His cupboard was empty and winter was come. 

Not a crumb to be found 

On the snow-covered ground; 

Not a flower could he see, 

Not a leaf on a tree: 
"Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?" 

At last by starvation and famine made bold, 

All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold, 

Away he set off to a miserly ant, 

To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant 

Him shelter from rain, 

A mouthful of grain 

He wished only to borrow, 

He'd repay it to-morrow: 
If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow. 

Says the ant to the cricket, "I'm your servant and friend, 

But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend; 

But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by 

When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I. 

My heart was so light 

That I sang day and night, 

For all nature looked gay." 

"You sang, sir, you say? 
Go then," said the ant, "and dance winter away." 

— Unknown. 

♦ 

ACTIONS 

The only things in which we can be said to have any property 
are our own actions. . . . Our riches may be taken from us by 
misfortune, our reputation by malice, and our spirits by calamity, 



"THEREFORE DOTH HEAVEN DIVIDE" 179 

our health by disease, our friends by death. But our actions 
must follow us beyond the grave; with respect to them alone we 
cannot say that we shall carry nothing with us when we die, 
neither that we shall go naked out of the world. Our actions 
must clothe us with an immortality, loathsome or glorious; these 
are the only title deeds of which we cannot be disinherited; they 
will have their full weight in the balance of eternity, when every- 
thing else is as nothing; and their value will be confirmed and 
destroyed by those two sure and sateless destroyers of all earthly 
things — Time and Death. 

— Charles Caleb Colton. 



SELFISHNESS 

Oh, if the selfish knew how much they lost, 
What would they not endeavor, not endure, 
To imitate as far as in them lay 
Him, who his wisdom and his power employs 
In making others happy ! 

— William Cowper. 



THEREFORE DOTH HEAVEN DIVIDE" 

Therefore doth Heaven divide 
The state of man in divers functions, 
Setting endeavor in continual motion, 
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
Obedience; for so work the honey-bees; 
Creatures, that by a rule in nature, teach 
The art of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They have a king, and officers of sorts : 
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home: 



180 HITCH EN MAY-DAY SONG 

Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; 
Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
To the tent royal of their emperor; 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold; 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey; 
The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; 
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I thus infer 
That many things, having full reference 
To one consent, may work contrariously 
As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
Come to one mark; many ways meet in one town; 
As many fresh streams run in one salt sea; 
As many lines close in the dial's center; 
So many a thousand actions once afoot 
End in one purpose and be all well borne without defeat. 
— William Shakespeare {Henry V) . 



HITCHEN MAY-DAY SONG 

Remember us poor Mayers all ! 

And thus we do begin 
To lead our lives in righteousness, 

Or else we die in sin. 

We have been rambling all the night, 
And almost all the day; 



A FAREWELL l8l 

And now returned back again, 

We have brought you a branch of May. 

A branch of May we have brought you, 

And at your door it stands; 
It is but a sprout, but it's well budded out 

By the work of our Lord's hands. 

The hedges and trees they are so green, 

As green as any leek; 
Our Heavenly Father He watered them 

With His heavenly dew so sweet. 

The heavenly gates are wide open, 

Our paths are beaten plain; 
And if a man be not too far gone, 

He may return again. 

The life of man is but a span, 

It flourishes like a flower; 
We are here to-day and gone to-morrow, 

And we are dead in an hour. 

The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light, 

A little before it is day: 
So God bless you all, both great and small, 

And send you a joyful May ! 

— Old English. 



A FAREWELL 

My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; 
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; 
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you 
For every day. 



182 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: 
And so make life, death, and that vast Forever 
One grand, sweet song. 

— Charles Kingsley. 



THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 

In the world, as in the school, 

I'd say how fate may change and shift: 
The prize be sometimes with a fool, 

The race not always to the swift. 
The strong may yield, the good may fall, 

The great man be a vulgar clown, 
The knave be lifted over all, 

The kind, cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design? 

Bless'd be He who took and gave ! 
We bow to Heaven that willed it so, 

That darkly rules the fate of all, 
That sends the respite or the blow, 

That's free to give or to recall. 

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, 

Let young and old accept their part, 
And bow before the Awful Will, 

And bear it with an honest heart, — 
Who misses, or who wins the prize. 

Go, lose or conquer as you can; 
But if you fail, or if you rise, 

Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

— William Makepeace Thackeray. 



POEMS FOR OCCASIONS 

THANKSGIVING 
THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY 

In Puritan New England a year had passed away 
Since first beside the Plymouth coast the English Mayflower lay, 
When Bradford, the good Governor, sent fowlers forth to snare 
The turkey and the wildfowl, to increase the scanty fare : — 

" Our husbandry hath prospered, there is corn enough for food, 
Though 'the pease be parched in blossom and the grain indif- 
ferent good.' 
Who blessed the loaves and fishes for the feast miraculous, 
And filled with oil the widow's cruse, He hath remembered us ! 

"Give thanks unto the Lord of Hosts, by whom we all are fed, 
Who granted us our daily prayer, 'Give us our daily bread' ! 
By us and by our children let this day be kept for aye, 
In memory of His bounty, as the land's Thanksgiving Day." 

Each brought his share of Indian meal the pious feast to make, 
With the fat deer from the forest and the wildfowl from the brake. 
And chanted hymn and prayer were raised — though eyes with 

tears were dim — 
"The Lord He hath remembered us, let us remember Him! " 

Then Bradford stood up at their head and lifted up his voice : 
"The corn is gathered from the field, I call you to rejoice; 

183 



184 GIVING THANKS 

Thank God for all His mercies, from the greatest to the least, 
Together we have fasted, friends, together let us feast. 

"The Lord who led forth Israel was with us in the waste: 
Sometime in light, sometime in cloud, before us He hath paced; 
Now give Him thanks, and pray to Him who holds us in His 

hand 
To prosper us and make of this a strong and mighty land !" 

From Plymouth to the Golden Gate to-day their children tread, 
The mercies of that bounteous Hand upon the land are shed ; 
The "flocks are on a thousand hills," the prairies wave with grain, 
The cities spring like mushrooms now where once was desert- 
plain. 

Heap high the board with plenteous cheer and gather to the feast, 
And toast that sturdy Pilgrim band whose courage never ceased. 
Give praise to that All-Gracious One by whom their steps were 

led, 
And thanks unto the harvest's Lord Who sends our "daily bread." 

— Alice Williams Brotherton. 



GIVING THANKS 

For the hay and the corn and the wheat that is reaped, 
For the labor well done, and the barns that are heaped, 
For the sun and the dew and the sweet honeycomb, 
For the rose and the song, and the harvest brought home 
Thanksgiving ! Thanksgiving ! 

For the trade and the skill and the wealth in our land, 
For the cunning and strength of the workingman's hand, 
For the good that our artists and poets have taught, 
For the friendship that hope and affection have brought - 
Thanksgiving ! Thanksgiving ! 



SOMETHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR 185 

For the homes that with purest affection are blest, 
For the season of plenty and well-deserved rest, 
For our country extending from sea to sea, 
The land that is known as "The Land of the Free" — 
Thanksgiving ! Thanksgiving ! 

— Anon. 



THE PILGRIMS 

If I were going to raise a monument to the Pilgrims, I know 
where I should place it. I should place one corner-stone on the 
rock, and the other on that level spot where fifty of the one hundred 
were buried before the winter was over ; but the remainder closed 
up shoulder to shoulder as firm, unflinching, hopeful as ever. 
Yes, death rather than compromise of Elizabeth. I would write 
on their monument two mottoes: one, "The Right is more than 
our Country!" and over the graves of the fifty: "Death, rather 
than compromise ! " 

How true it is that the Pilgrims originated no new truth ! How 
true it is, also, that it is not truth which agitates the world ! What 
the Pilgrims gave the world was not thought, but action. Men, 
calling themselves thinkers, had been creeping along the Medi- 
terranean, from headland to headland in their timidity; the Pil- 
grims launched boldly out into the Atlantic and trusted God. 
That is the claim they have upon posterity. It was action that 
made them what they were. 

— Wendell Phillips. 



SOMETHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR 



I'm glad that I am not to-day 
A chicken or a goose, 

Or any other sort of bird 
That is of any use. 



l86 WE THANK THEE 

I'd rather be a little girl, 

Although 'tis very true, 
The things I do not like at all, 

I'm often made to do. 

I'd rather eat some turkey than 

To be one, thick and fat, 
And so, with all my heart, to-day, 

I'll thankful be for that. 

— Clara J. Denton. 



WE THANK THEE 

For flowers that bloom about our feet; 
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet; 
For song of bird, and hum of bee; 
For all things fair we hear or see, 

Father in heaven, we thank Thee ! 

For blue of stream and blue of sky; 
For pleasant shade of branches high; 
For fragrant air and cooling breeze; 
For beauty of the blooming trees, 

Father in heaven, we thank Thee ! 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THANKSGIVING 

Lord, for the erring thought 
Not into evil wrought ! 
Lord, for the wicked will 
Betrayed and baffled still ! 



OLD CHRISTMAS RETURNED 187 

For the heart from itself kept, 
Our thanksgiving accept. 
For ignorant hopes that were 
Broken to our blind prayer; 
For pain, death, sorrow, sent 
Unto our chastisement; 
For all loss of seeming good; 
Quicken our gratitude. 

— William Dean Howells. 



CHRISTMAS 
OLD CHRISTMAS RETURNED 

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined, 
Come, here is good news for to pleasure your mind, 
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house, 
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse : 

Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief, 
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef. 

The holly and ivy about the walls wind 
And show that we ought to our neighbors be kind, 
Inviting each other for pastime and sport, 
And where we best fare, there we most do resort; 
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief, 
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef. 

All travelers, as they do pass on their way, 

At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay, 

Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest, 

Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest; 

Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief 
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef. 

— Old Carol. 



188 OUR CHRISTMAS 



OUR CHRISTMAS 



We didn't have much of a Christmas 

My papa and Rosie and me, 
For mamma'd gone out to the prison 

To trim up the poor pris'ners tree;- 
And Ethel, my big grown-up sister, 

Was down at the 'sylum all day 
To help at the great turkey dinner, 

And teach games for the orphans to play. 
She belongs to a club of young ladies 

With a " beautiful objeck," they say, 
'Tis to go among poor, lonesome children 

And make all their sad hearts more gay. 

And auntie, you don't know my auntie? 

She's my own papa's half sister Kate, 
She was 'bliged to be round at the chapel 

Till 'twas, — oh, sometimes dreadfully late, 
For she pities the poor, worn-out curate; 

His burdens, she says, are so great; 
So she 'ranges the flowers and the music, 

And he goes home around by our gate. 
I should think this way must be the longest, 

But, then, I suppose he knows best. 
Aunt Kate says he intones most splendid; 

And his name is Vane Algernon West. 

My papa had bought a big turkey 
And had it sent home Christmas eve, 

But there wasn't a soul here to cook it, — 
You see Bridget had threatened to leave 

If she couldn't go off with her cousin, 
(He doesn't look like her one bit) 



OUR CHRISTMAS 189 

She says she belongs to a "union" 

And the union won't let her submit. 
So we ate bread and milk for our dinner, 

And some raisins and candy, and then 
Rose and me went downstairs to the pantry 

To look at the turkey again. 

Papa said he would take us out riding — 

Then he thought that he didn't quite dare 
For Rosie'd got cold and kept coughing; 

There was dampness and chills in the air. 
Oh, the day was so long and so lonesome ! 

And our papa was lonesome as we ; 
And the parlor was dreary — no sunshine, 

And all the sweet roses — the tea 
And the red ones, and ferns and carnations 

That have made our bay window so bright, 
Mamma'd picked for the men at the prison, 

To make their bad hearts pure and white. 

And we all sat up close to the window, 

Rose and me on our papa's two knees, 
And we counted the dear little birdies 

That were hopping about on the trees. 
Rosie wanted to be a brown sparrow; 

But I thought I would rather, by far, 
Be a robin that flies away winters 

Where the sunshine and gay blossoms are. 
And papa wished he was a jail bird, 

'Cause he thought that they fared the best; 
But we all were real glad we weren't turkeys, 

For then we'd been killed with the rest. 

That night I put into my prayers, — 
"Dear God, we've been lonesome to-day, 



190 THE CHRISTMAS TREES 

For mamma, aunt, Ethel, and Bridget 

Every one of them all went away. 
Won't you please make a club, or society, 

'Fore it's time for next Christmas to be, 
To take care of philanterpists' fam'lies, 

Like papa and Rosie and me?" 
And I think that my papa's grown pious, 

For he listened as still as a mouse 
Till I got to " Amen " — then he said it 

So it sounded all over the house. 

— Julia Anna Wolcott. 



THE CHRISTMAS TREES 

There's a stir among the trees, 
There's a whisper in the breeze, 
Little ice-points clash and clink, 
Little needles nod and wink, 
Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh — 
"Here am I ! Here am I ! 

"All the summer long I stood 

In the silence of the woods. 

Tall and tapering I grew; 

What might happen well I knew; 

For one day a little bird 

Sang, and in the song I heard 

Many things quite strange to me 

Of Christmas and the Christmas tree. 

"When the sun was hid from sight 
In the darkness of the night, 



SANTA CLAUS 191 

When the wind with sudden fret 
Pulled at my green coronet, 
Stanch I stood, and hid my fears, 
Weeping silent fragrant tears, 
Praying still that I might be 
Fitted for a Christmas tree. 

"Now here we stand 

On every hand ! 

In us a hoard of summer stored, 

Birds have flown over us, 

Blue sky has covered us, 

Soft winds have sung to us, 

Blossoms have flung to us 

Measureless sweetness, 

Now in completeness 

We wait." 

— Mary F. Butts. 



SANTA CLAUS 

He comes in the night ! He comes in the night ! 

He softly, silently comes; 
While little brown heads on the pillows so white 

Are dreaming of bugles and drums. 
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam, 

While the white flakes around him whirl; 
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home 

Of each good little boy and girl. 

His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide ; 

It will carry a host of things, 
While dozens of drums hang over the side, 

With the sticks sticking under the strings. 



102 THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY 

And yet not the sound of a drum is heard, 

Not a bugle blast is blown, 
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird, 

And drops to the hearth like a stone. 

The little red stockings he silently fills, 

Till the stockings will hold no more; 
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills 

Are quickly set down on the floor. 
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird, 

And glides to his seat in the sleigh; 
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard 

As he noiselessly gallops away. 

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West, 

Of his goodies he touches not one; 
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast 

When the dear little folks are done. 
Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can ; 

This beautiful mission is his; 
Then, children, be good to the little old man, 

When you find who the little man is. 

— Unknown. 



THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY 

The holly ! the holly ! oh, twine it with bay — 

Come give the holly a song; 
For it helps to drive stern winter away, 

With his garment so somber and long; 
It peeps through the trees with its berries of red, 

And its leaves of burnished green, 



OLD CHRISTMAS 1 93 

When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, 

And not even the daisy is seen. 
Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, 

That hangs over peasant and king; 
While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs, 

To the Christmas holly we'll sing. 

— Eliza Cook. 



OLD CHRISTMAS 

Now he who knows old Christmas 
He knows a carle of worth; 

For he is as good a fellow 
As any upon earth. 

He comes warm cloaked and coated, 
And buttoned up to the chin, 

And soon as he comes anigh the door 
We open and let him in. 

We know that he will not fail us, 
So we sweep the hearth up clean; 

We set him in the old armchair, 
And a cushion whereon to lean. 

And with sprigs of holly and ivy 
We make the house look gay, 

Just out of an old regard to him, 
For it was his ancient way. 

He must be a rich old fellow: 
What money he gives away! 



194 O CAPTAIN/ MY CAPTAIN/ 

There is not a lord in England 
Could equal him any day. 

Good luck unto old Christmas, 

And long life let us sing, 
For he doth more good unto the poor 

Than many a crowned king ! 

— Mary Howitt. 



LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY 

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done ; 

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won ; 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring : 
But O heart! heart! heart! 

O the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead ! 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills ; 
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you the shores 
a-crowding; 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; 
Here Captain ! dear father ! 

This arm beneath your head; 

It is some dream that on the deck 

You've fallen cold and dead. 



LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE 195 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; 

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will: 
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done ; 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won : 
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! 

But I, with mournful tread, 
Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 

— Walt Whitman. 



LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE 

When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour, 
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, 
She bent the strenuous Heavens and came down 
To make a man to meet the mortal need. 
She took the tried clay of the common road — 
Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, 
Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; 
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. 
It was a stuff to wear for centuries, 
A man that matched the mountains, and compelled 
The stars to look our way and honor us. 

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth ; 

The tang and odor of the primal things — 

The rectitude and patience of the rocks; 

The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; 

The courage of the bird that dares the sea. 

And so he came. 
From prairie cabin up to Capitol, 
One fair Ideal led our chieftain on. 



196 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

Forevermore he burned to do his deed 
With the fine stroke and gesture of a king. 
He built the rail-pile as he built the State, 
Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, 
The conscience of him testing every stroke, 
To make his deed the measure of a man. 

So came the Captain with the mighty heart: 
And when the step of Earthquake shook the house, 
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold, 
He held the ridge pole up and spiked again 
The rafters of the Home. He held his place — 
Held the long purpose like a growing tree — 
Held on through blame and faltered not at praise. 
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down 
As when a kingly cedar green with boughs 
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, 
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky. 

— Edwin Markham. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

Abraham Lincoln is one of the marvels of history. No land 
but America has produced his like. His goodness of heart, his 
sense of duty, his unselfishness, his freedom from vanity, his long- 
suffering, his simplicity, were never disturbed either by power or 
by opposition. — Goldwin Smith. 

A man of great ability, pure patriotism, unselfish nature, full 
of forgiveness to his enemies, bearing malice toward none, he 
proved to be the man above all others for the struggle through 
which the nation had to pass to place itself among the greatest 
in the family of nations. — U. S. Grant. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN- 1 97 

Lincoln was the purest, the most generous, the most magnani- 
mous of men. — General W. T. Sherman. 

Under the providence of God he was, next to Washington, the 
greatest instrument for the preservation of the Union and the in- 
tegrity of the country; and this was brought about chiefly through 
his strict and faithful adherence to the Constitution of his country. 

— Peter Cooper. 

Lincoln was worthy to be trusted and to be loved by all his 
countrymen. — General O. O. Howard. 



AN ANECDOTE OF LINCOLN 

President Lincoln was walking with a friend and turned back 
for some distance to assist a beetle that had gotten on its back 
and lay on the walk, legs sprawling in air, vainly trying to turn 
itself over. The friend expressed surprise that the President, 
burdened with the care of a warring nation, should find time to 
spare in assisting a bug. 

"Well," said Lincoln, with that homely sincerity that has touched 
the hearts of millions of his countrymen and placed him foremost 
in our affections as the greatest American, "do you know if I. 
had left that bug struggling there on his back, I wouldn't have 
felt just right ? I wanted to put him on his feet and give him an 
equal chance with other bugs of his class." 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

This man whose homely face you look upon, 

Was one of nature's masterful great men; 

Born with strong arms, that unfought battles won; 



198 WASHINGTON 

Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen. 
Chosen for large designs, he had the art 
Of winning with his humor, and he went 
Straight to his mark, which was the human heart; 
Wise, too, for what he could not break, he bent. 
Upon his back a more than Atlas load, 
The burden of the Commonwealth, was laid; 
He stooped and rose up to it, though the road 
Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed. 
Hold, warriors, councillors, kings ! All now give place 
To this dear benefactor of the race. 

— Richard Henry Stoddard. 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY 

WASHINGTON 

(tributes by great men) 

Just honor to Washington can only be rendered by observing 
his precepts and imitating his example. He has built his own 
monument. We, and those who come after us, are its appointed, 
its privileged guardians. The widespread republic is the true 
monument to Washington. Maintain its independence ! Up- 
hold its constitution. Preserve its union. Defend its liberty. 
Let it stand before the world in all its original strength and beauty, 
securing peace, order, equality, and freedom to all within its boun- 
daries, and shedding light and hope and joy unto the pathway of 
human liberty throughout the world ; — and Washington needs 
no other monument. Other structures may fitly testify our vene- 
ration for him; this, this alone can adequately illustrate his ser- 
vices to mankind. — Robert C. Winthrop. 



WASHINGTON 



199 



Washington is the mightiest name on earth, long since mightiest 
in the cause of civil liberty, still mightiest in moral reformation. 
On that name a eulogy is expected. It cannot be. To add bright- 
ness to the sun or glory to the name of Washington is alike impos- 
sible. Let none attempt it. In solemn awe pronounce the name 
and, in its naked, deathless splendor, leave it shining on. 

— Abraham Lincoln. 

The more clearly Washington's teaching and example are under- 
stood, the more faithfully they are followed, the purer, the stronger, 
the more glorious will this Republic become. 

— Carl Schurz. 

The fame of Washington stands apart from every other in 
history, shining with a truer luster and more benignant glory. 

— Washington Irving. 

Washington is to my mind the purest figure in history. 

— William Ewart Gladstone. 

Oh, Washington ! thou hero, patriot, sage, 
Friend of all climes and pride of every age ! 

— Thomas Paine. 

The voice of mankind shall ascend in acclaim, 

And the watchword of nations be Washington's name. 

— James Brooks. 

He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His mem- 
ory is first and most sacred in our love, and ever hereafter, till the 
last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name 
shall be a spell of power and of might. 

— Rufus Choate. 



200 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN'S TOAST 

His memory will be cherished by the wise and good of every 

nation, and truth will transmit his character to posterity in all its 

genuine luster. 

— John Jay. 

Where may the wearied eye repose 

When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes, — one, the first, the last, the best, 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeathed the name of Washington. 
To make men blush there was but one. 

— Lord Byron. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN'S TOAST 

At the conclusion of the war, Dr. Franklin, the English Minister, 
and the French Minister dining together, a toast from each was 
called for and agreed to. The British Minister began with : 
" George III, who, like the sun in its meridian, spreads a luster 
throughout and enlightens the world." The French Minister 
followed with: "The illustrious Louis XVI, who, like the moon, 
sheds mild and benignant rays upon and influences the globe." 
Our American Franklin then gave: " George Washington, Com- 
mander of the American armies, who, like Joshua of old, com- 
manded the sun and moon to stand still — and they obeyed him." 



ON THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on mis- 
fortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremen- 



ON THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 201 

dous moment: it is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of 
flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now 
necessary to instruct the throne, in the language of Truth. We 
must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop 
it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin 
which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to 
expect support in their infatuation ? Can Parliament be so dead 
to its dignity and duty as to give their support to measures thus 
obtruded and forced upon them — measures, my lords, which have 
reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. But 
yesterday, "and England might have stood against the world — 
now, none so poor to do her reverence." 

No man more highly esteems and honors the English troops 
than I do : I know their virtue and their valor : I know they can 
achieve anything except impossibilities ; and I know that the con- 
quest of English America is an impossibility. You cannot, my 
lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situ- 
ation there? We do not know the worst, but we know that in 
three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You 
may swell every expense, and strain every effort, accumulate every 
assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every Ger- 
man despot; your attempts forever will be vain and impotent; 
doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for 
it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your adver- 
saries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and 
plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of 
hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, 
while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay 
down my arms — never ! never ! never ! 

— William Pitt, First Earl of Chatham. 



202 WASHINGTON 

WASHINGTON 

Fifty years ago Europe flattered herself that she had discovered 
America. To-day she may continue to flatter herself, but her 
self-satisfaction is not unmixed with alarm. She is proud of her 
discovery of America, but she is alarmed at American discoveries. 
Fifty years ago you were her customers ; to-day you have become 
her competitors. Your marvelous progress, however, ought to 
surprise no one; for we say in France: "Good blood cannot lie," 
and you have the best blood in Europe. Ignorant people called 
you Anglo-Saxons, but you protest; you know well that in your 
veins flows the blood of the most energetic and enterprising sons 
of the Old World. 

It is a true saying that a good deed is never lost. We helped 
you, of old, in the conquest of liberty, but you, in revenge, have 
taught us how it can be preserved. You have given us a type of 
the modern hero, Washington, your "Chevalier sans peur et sans 
reproche." Washington put his sword to the noblest use by 
fighting for your independence, but his independence, once as- 
sured, he respected the rights of others. His victories have made 
him great, but he is greater still by his renunciation. Once his 
cause triumphant, he aimed not at power, but at retirement. 
Power weighed heavily upon him; he used it for the safety of the 
Republic, not, as so many others, for its destruction. Admirable 
example to those countries where conquerors of another type have 
sought, not to secure liberty, but to defeat it; admirable example 
to offer to the world, a hero who was in turn a conqueror and 
liberator, and who crowned Glory with Peace. 

He did not destroy; he created. You are his handiwork. Let 
us unite, to honor his memory. Let us unite without distinction, 
French, Americans, all civilized nations. Washington is too great 
to belong to one nation only. He has served his country well, 
but he also served humanity. Humanity claims him. 

— Baron d'Estournelles de Constant. 



CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA 203 

FAREWELL ADDRESS 

Of all the dispositions and habits, which lead to political pros- 
perity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In 
vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should 
labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these 
firmest props of the duties of men and citizens. The mere poli- 
tician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and to cherish 
them. A volume could not trace all their connections with private 
and public felicity. Let it simply be asked, "Where is the security 
for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obli- 
gation desert the oaths, which are the instruments of investigation 
in Courts of Justice ? And let us with caution indulge the supposi- 
tion, that morality can be maintained without religion. What- 
ever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds 
of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to 
expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious 
principle. 

— George Washington. 



CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA 

America, gentlemen say, is a noble object. It is an object well 
worth fighting for. Certainly it is, if fighting a people be the best 
way of gaining them. 

First, sir, permit me to observe, that the use of force alone is 
but temporary. It may subdue for a moment, but it does not 
remove the necessity of subduing again; and a nation is not 
governed which is perpetually to be conquered. 

My next objection is its uncertainty. Terror is not always 
the effect of force, and an armament is not a victory. If you do 
not succeed, you are without resources, for, conciliation failing, 
force remains; but, force failing, no further hope of reconciliation 



204 CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA 

is left. Power and authority are sometimes bought by kindness, 
but they can never be begged as alms by an impoverished and 
defeated violence. 

A further objection to force is, that you impair the object by 
your endeavor to preserve it. The thing you fought for is not the 
thing which you recover; but depreciated, sunk, wasted, and con- 
sumed in the contest. Nothing less will content me than whole 
America. 

Let me add, that I do not choose wholly to break the American 
spirit, because it is the spirit that has made the country. 

The question is not whether their spirit deserves praise or blame. 
What, in the name of God, shall we do with it ? 

The temper and character which prevail in our colonies are, 
I am afraid, unalterable by any human art. We cannot, I fear, 
falsify the pedigree of this fierce people, and persuade them that 
they are not sprung from a nation in whose veins the blood of free- 
dom circulates. The language in which they would hear you 
tell them this tale would detect the imposition. Your speech 
would betray you. An Englishman is the unfittest person on 
earth to argue another Englishman into slavery. 

The Americans will have no interest contrary to the grandeur 
and glory of England, when they are not oppressed by the weight 
of it ; and they will rather be inclined to respect the acts of a super- 
intending legislature, when they see them the acts of that power 
which is itself the security, not the rival, of their secondary impor- 
tance. In this assurance my mind most perfectly acquiesces, 
and I confess I feel not the least alarm from the discontents which 
are to arise from putting people at their ease ; nor do I apprehend 
the destruction of this Empire from giving, by an act of free grace 
and indulgence, to two millions of my fellow-citizens, some share 
of those rights upon which I have always been taught to value 
myself. 

Magnanimity in politics is not seldom the truest wisdom: and 
a great empire and little minds go ill together. We ought to 



THE NECESSITY OF WAR 205 

auspicate all our public proceeding on America with the old warn- 
ing of the Church, "Sursum corda ! " We ought to elevate our 
minds to the greatness of that trust to which the order of Provi- 
dence has called us. 

— Edmund Burke. 



THE NECESSITY OF WAR. SPEECH IN THE 
VIRGINIA CONVENTION, 1775 

Sir, we are not weak, if we make proper use of those means which 
the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of peo- 
ple, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that 
which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy 
can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles 
alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destiny of 
nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. 
The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the 
active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were 
base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. 
There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains 
are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. 
The war is inevitable — and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it 
come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter; gentlemen may cry, 
" Peace, peace !" but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. 
The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the 
clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. 
Why stand we here idle ? What is it the gentlemen wish ? What 
will they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be pur- 
chased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty 
God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, 
give me liberty or give me death ! 

— Patrick Henry. 



206 TWO VETERANS 

MEMORIAL DAY 

TWO VETERANS 

The last sunbeam 
Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath, 
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking 

Down on a new-made double grave. 

Lo ! the moon ascending, 
Up from the east the silvery round moon, 
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon, 

Immense and silent moon. 

I see a sad procession, 
And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles, 
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, 

As with voices and with tears. 

I hear the great drums pounding, 
And the small drums steady whirring; 
And every blow of the great convulsive drums 

Strikes me through and through. 

For the son is brought with the father, 
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, 
Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, 

And the double grave awaits them). 

Now nearer blow the bugles, 
And the drums strike more convulsive, 
And the day-light o'er the pavement quite has faded, 

And the strong dead-march enwraps me. 



KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES 207 

O strong dead-march you please me ! 
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me ! 
O my soldiers twain ! O my veterans passing to burial ! 

What I have I also give you. 

The moon gives you light, 
And the bugles and the drums give you music, 
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, 

My heart gives you love. 

— Walt Whitman. 



KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES 

So that soldierly legend is still on its journey, 

That story of Kearny who knew not to yield ! 

'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney, 

Against twenty thousand he rallied the field, 

Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, 

Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine, 

Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest, 

No charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole line. 

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, 

Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, 

He rode down the length of the withering column, 

And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound ; 

He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of our powder, 

His sword waved us on and we answered the sign : 

Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder, 

" There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line ! " 

How he strode his brown steed ! How we saw his blade brighten 

In one hand still left, — and the reins in his teeth ! 



208 HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE 

He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, 
But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, 
Asking where to go in, — through the clearing or pine ? 
"O anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same, Colonel: 
You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line ! " 

O evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, 

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried ! 

Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 

The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride ! 

Yet we dream that he still, — in that shadowy region 

Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign, - 

Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, 

And the word still is " Forward ! " along the whole line. 

— Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blessed ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mold, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 

— William Collins. 



TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS 209 

HALLOWED GROUND 

****** 
What hallows ground where heroes sleep? 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap ! 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight? 

A noble cause ! 

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth: — 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallowed ground. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS 

' Honor to the memory of our Fathers. May the turf lie gently 
on their sacred graves ; — but let us not in words only, but in deeds 
also, testify our reverence for their name. Let us imitate what in 
them was lofty, pure, and good; let us from them learn to bear 
hardship and privation. Let us now, who reap in strength what 
they sowed in weakness, study to enhance the inheritance we 
have received. To do this, we must not fold our hands in slumber, 



2IO SOLDIER, REST! 

nor abide content with the past. To each generation is committed 
its peculiar task; nor does the heart, which responds to the call 
of duty, find rest except in the world to come. 

— Charles Sumner. 



SOLDIER, REST! 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
Dream of battle fields no more, 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall, 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 

Dream of fighting fields no more; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 

Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

No rude sound shall reach thine ear, 

Armor's clang or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near, 

Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 

Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. 

— Sir Walter Scott {Lady of the Lake). 



WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING 211 

THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 

In coming years when men seek to draw the moral of our great 
Civil War, nothing will seem to them so admirable in all the history 
of our two magnificent armies as the way in which the war came 
to a close. When the Confederate army saw the time had come, 
they acknowledged the pitiless logic of facts and ceased fighting. 
When the army of the Union saw it was no longer needed, without 
a murmur or question, making no terms, asking no return, in the 
flush of victory and fulness of might, it laid down its arms and 
melted back into the mass of the peaceful citizens. There is no 
event since the nation was born which has so proved its capacity 
for self-government. Both sections share equally in that crown 
of glory. They had held a debate of incomparable importance 
and had fought it out with equal energy. A conclusion had been 
reached — and it is to the everlasting honor of both sides that 
they each knew when the war was over and the hour of a lasting 
peace had struck. We may admire the desperate daring of others 
who prefer annihilation to compromise, but the palm of common 
sense, and, I will say, of enlightened patriotism, belongs to the 
men like Grant and Lee, who knew when they had fought 
enough for honor and for country. 

— John Hay. 
«♦- 

WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING 

When banners are waving, 

And lances a-pushing; 
When captains are shouting, 

And war-horses rushing; 
When cannon are roaring, 

And hot bullets flying, 
He that would honor win, 

Must not fear dying. 



212 WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING 

Though shafts fly so thick 

That it seems to be snowing; 
Though streamlets with blood 

More than water are flowing; 
Though with saber and bullet 

Our bravest are dying, 
We speak of revenge, but 

We ne'er speak of flying. 

Come, stand to it, heroes ! 

The heathen are coming; 
Horsemen are round the walls, 

Riding and running; 
Maidens and matrons all 

Arm ! arm ! are crying, 
From petards the wildfire's 

Flashing and flying. 

The trumpets from turrets high 

Loudly are braying; 
The steeds for the onset 

Are snorting and neighing; 
As waves in the ocean, 

The dark plumes are dancing; 
As stars in the blue sky, 

The helmets are glancing. 

Their ladders are planting, 

Their sabers are sweeping; 
Now swords from our sheaths 

By the thousand are leaping; 
Like the flash of the levin 

Ere men hearken thunder, 
Swords gleam, and the steel caps 

Are cloven asunder. 



THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD 213 

The shouting has ceased, 

And the flashing of cannon ! 
I looked from the turret 

For crescent and pennon ; 
As flax touched by fire, 

As hail in the river, 
They were smote, they were fallen, 

And had melted forever. 

— Unknown. 
■♦ 

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD 

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat 

The soldier's last tattoo; 
No more on life's parade shall meet 

That brave and fallen few. 
On fame's eternal camping ground 

Their silent tents are spread, 
And Glory guards with silent round, 

The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now swells upon the wind; 
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved ones left behind; 
No vision of the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarms; 
No braying horn, no screaming fife, 

At dawn shall call to arms. 

Their shivered swords are red with rust 

Their plumed heads are bowed; 
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, 

Is now their martial shroud; 



214 THE AMERICAN FLAG 

And plenteous funeral tears have washed 
The red stains from each brow; 

And the proud forms by battle gashed, 
Are free from anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the flashing blade, 

The bugle's stirring blast, 
The charge, the dreadful cannonade, 

The din and shout are passed; 
Nor war's wild notes nor Glory's peal 

Shall thrill with fierce delight, 
Those breasts that never more may feel 

The rapture of the fight. 



Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, 

Dear as the blood you gave, — 
No impious footsteps here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave. 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While Fame her record keeps, 
Or Honor points the hallowed spot 

Where Valor proudly sleeps. 



* * 

— Theodore O'Hara. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 

A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not the 
flag only, but the nation itself ; and whatever may be its symbols, 
its insignia, he reads chiefly in the flag the government, the princi- 
ples, the truths, the history, which belong to the nation that sets 
it forth. 



ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 215 

This nation has a banner; and wherever it streamed abroad, 
men saw daybreak bursting on their eyes, for the American flag 
has been the symbol of liberty, and men rejoiced in it. Not 
another flag on the globe had such an errand or went forth upon 
the sea carrying everywhere, the world around, such hope for the 
captive and such glorious tidings. The stars upon it were to the 
pining nations like the morning stars of God, and the stripes upon 
it were beams of morning light. And wherever the flag comes 
and men behold it, they see in its sacred emblazonry, no ram- 
pant lion and fierce eagle, but onlvjight, and every fold signifi- 
cant of liberty. ' \f 

Let us then twine each thread: of-tne glorious tissue of our 
country's flag about our heartstrings ; and looking upon our homes 
and catching the spirit that breathes upon us from the battle- 
fields of our fathers, let us resolve, come weal or woe, we will, in 
life and in death, now and forever, stand by the stars and 
stripes. 

— Henry Ward Beecher. 



ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art — 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 

The heart which love of Thee alone can bind; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned, 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom 

And freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

— George Gordon, Lord Byron. 



2l6 STAND BY THE FLAG! 

STAND BY THE FLAG! 

Stand by the Flag ! Its stars, like meteors gleaming, 

Have lighted Arctic icebergs, southern seas, 
And shone responsive to the stormy beaming 

Of old Arcturus and the Pleiades. 

Stand by the Flag ! Its stripes have streamed in glory, 

To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe, 
And spread in rhythmic lines the sacred story 

Of Freedom's triumphs over all the globe. 

Stand by the Flag ! On land and ocean billow 

By it your fathers stood unmoved and true, 
Living, defended; dying, from their pillow, 

With their last blessing, passed it on to you. 

Stand by the Flag ! Immortal heroes bore it 

Through sulphurous smoke, deep moat and armed defence; 
And their imperial Shades still hover o'er it, 
A guard celestial from Omnipotence. 

— John Nichols Wilder. 
♦ 

DEAR LAND OF ALL MY LOVE 

Long as thine art shall love true love, 
Long as thy science truth shall know, 
Long as thine eagle harms no dove, 
Long as thy law by law shall grow, 
Long as thy God is God above, 
Thy brother every man below, 
So long, dear land of all my love, 
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow. 

— Sidney Lanier {Centennial Ode, 1876). 
From " Poems of Sidney Lanier." Copyright, 1891, and published by 
Chas. Scribner's Sons. 



STANZAS ON FREEDOM 217 

STANZAS ON FREEDOM 

Men ! whose boast it is that ye 
Come of fathers brave and free, 
If there breathe on earth a slave, 
Are ye truly free and brave ? 
If ye do not feel the chain, 
When it works a brother's pain, 
Are ye not base slaves indeed, 
Slaves unworthy to be freed? 

Is true Freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own dear sake, 
And, with leathern hearts, forget 
That we owe mankind a debt? 
No ! true freedom is to share 
All the chains our brothers wear, 
And with heart and hand, to be 
Earnest to make others free ! 

They are slaves who fear to speak 

For the fallen and the weak; 

They are slaves who will not choose 

Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think; 

They are slaves who dare not be 

In the right with two or three. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



2l8 LOVE OF COUNTRY 

GENERAL PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 
LOVE OF COUNTRY 

I love my country's pine-clad hills, 
Her thousand bright and gushing rills, 
Her sunshine and her storms; 
Her rough and rugged rocks that rear 
Their hoary heads high in the air 
In wild, fantastic forms. 

I love her rivers, deep and wide, 

Those mighty streams that seaward glide 

To seek the ocean's breast; 

Her smiling fields, her pleasant vales, 

Her shady dells, her flowery dales, 

Her haunts of peaceful rest. 

I love her forest, dark and lone, 
For there the wild bird's merry tone 
Is heard from morn till night, 
And there are lovelier flowers I ween, 
Than e'er in Eastern land was seen 
In varied colors bright. 

Her forest, and her valleys fair, 

Her flowers that scent the morning air, 

Have all their charms for me; 

But more I love my country's name, 

Those words that echo deathless fame, — 

"The land of liberty." 

— Unknown. 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS 219 

THE FLAG 

O'er the high and o'er the lowly 

Floats that banner bright and holy, 
In the rays of Freedom's sun, 

In the nation's heart embedded, 

O'er our Union newly wedded, 
One in all, and all in one. 

Let that banner wave forever, 

May its lustrous stars fade never, 
Till the stars shall pale on high; 

While there's right the wrong defeating, 

While there's hope in true hearts beating, 
Truth and Freedom shall not die. 

Wave then, 

And scatter like the circling sun, 

Thy charities on all. 

— J. C. F. Schiller. 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS 

Never before have men tried so vast and formidable an ex- 
periment as that of administering the affairs of a continent under 
the forms of a democratic republic. Upon the success of our 
experiment much depends, — not only as regards our own wel- 
fare, but as regards the welfare of mankind. If we fail, the cause 
of free self-government throughout the world will rock to its 
foundations; and therefore our responsibility is heavy, to our- 
selves, to the world as it is to-day, and to the generations yet 



220 JEFFERSON'S INAUGURAL ADDRESS 

unborn. Yet after all, though the problems are new, though the 
tasks set before us differ from the tasks set before our fathers, 
who founded and preserved this Republic, the spirit in which 
these tasks must be undertaken and these problems faced, if our 
duty is to be well done, remains essentially unchanged. We 
know that self-government is difficult. We know that no people 
needs such high traits of character as that people which 
seeks to govern its affairs aright through the freely expressed 
will of the freemen who compose it. 

But we have faith that we shall not prove false to the memories 
of the men of the mighty past. They did their work, they left us 
the splendid heritage we now enjoy. We in our turn have an 
assured confidence that we shall be able to leave this heritage 
unwasted and enlarged to our children and our children's children. 

To do so, we must show, not merely in great crises, but in the 

everyday affairs of life, the qualities of practical intelligence, of 

courage, of hardihood and endurance, and above all the power of 

devotion to a lofty ideal, which made great the men who founded 

this Republic in the days of Washington; which made great 

the men who preserved this Republic in the days of Abraham 

Lincoln. 

— Theodore Roosevelt. 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS 

About to enter, fellow-citizens, on the exercise of duties which 
comprehend everything dear and valuable to you, it is proper you 
should understand what I deem the essential principles of our 
government, and consequently those which ought to shape its 
administration. I will compress them within the narrowest com- 
pass they will bear, stating the general principle, but not all its 
limitations, — equal and exact justice to all men, of whatever 
state or persuasion, religious or political ; peace, commerce, and 
honest friendship with all nations, entangling alliances with none ; 



CIVIC DUTIES 221 

the honest payment of our debts, and secured preservation of the 
public faith ; encouragement of agriculture, and of commerce ; 
the diffusion of information and arraignment of all abuses at the 
bar of the public reason ; freedom of religion, freedom of the 
press, and trial by juries impartially selected. These principles 
form the bright constellation which has gone before us, and 
guided our steps through an age of revolution and reformation ; 
the wisdom of our sages and blood of our heroes have been de- 
voted to their attainment ; they should be the creed of our political 
faith, the text of civic instruction, the touchstone by which to try 
the services of those we trust ; and should we wander from them 
in moments of terror or of alarm, let us hasten to retrace our steps 
and to regain the road which alone leads to peace, liberty, and 
safety. 

— Thomas Jefferson (Inaugural Address). 



CIVIC DUTIES 

Every citizen owes to the country a vigilant watch and close 
scrutiny of its public servants and a fair and reasonable estimate 
of their fidelity and usefulness. Thus is the people's will im- 
pressed upon the whole framework of our civil polity — munici- 
pal, state, and federal; and this is the price of our liberty and the 
inspiration of our faith in the Republic. Those who are selected 
for a limited time to manage public affairs are still of the people, 
and may do much by their example to encourage, consistently 
with the dignity of their official functions, that plain way of life 
which among their fellow-citizens aids integrity and promotes 
thrift and prosperity. 

The genius of our institutions, the needs of our people in their 
home life, and the attention which is demanded for the settlement 
and development of the resources of our vast territory, dictate the 
scrupulous avoidance of any departure from that foreign policy 



222 WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE ? 

commended by the history, the traditions, and the prosperity of 
our Republic. It is the policy of our independence favored by 
our position and defended by our known love of justice and 
by our own power. It is the policy of peace suitable to our inter- 
ests. It is the policy of neutrality, rejecting any share in foreign 
broils and ambitions upon other continents and repelling their 
intrusion here. It is the policy of Monroe, and of Washington, 
and Jefferson — "Peace, commerce, and honest friendship with 
all nations ; entangling alliance with none." 

— Grover Cleveland (Inaugural Address). 



WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? 

What constitutes a state ? 

Not high-raised battlements or labored mound, 

Thick wall or moated gate; 

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports, 

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; 

Not starred and spangled courts, 

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

No ! Men, high-minded men — 

With powers as far above dull brutes endued, 

In forest, brake, or den, 

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; 

Men who their duties know; 

And know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, 

Prevent the long-aimed blow, 

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain. 

These constitute a state; 

And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 

O'er thrones and globes elate, 

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

— Sir William Jones. 



MISCELLANEOUS 

THE PRINCESS 

(selection) 

The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink 
Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: 
For she that out of Lethe scales with man 
The shining steps of Nature, shares with man 
His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, 
Stays all this fair young planet in her hands — 
If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, 
How shall men grow ? but work no more alone ! 
Our place is much : as far as in us lies 
We two will serve them both in aiding her — 
Will clear away the parasitic forms 
That seem to keep her up but drag her down — 
Will leave her space to bourgeon out of all 
Within her — let her make herself her own 
To give or keep, to live and learn and be 
All that not harms distinctive womanhood. 
For woman is not undevelopt man, 
But diverse: could we make her as the man, 
Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, 
Not like to like, but like in difference. 
Yet in the long years liker must they grow; 
The man be more of woman, she of man; 
He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; 
223 



224 



THREE BUGS 

She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 

Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; 

Till at last she set herself to man, 

Like perfect music unto noble words; 

And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, 

Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, 

Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, 

Self-reverent each and reverencing each, 

Distinct in individualities, 

But like each other ev'n as those who love. 

Then comes the statelier Eden back to man: 

Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: 

Then springs the crowning race of humankind. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THREE BUGS 

Three little bugs in a basket, 

And hardly room for two ! 
And one was yellow, and one was black, 

And one like me, or you. 
The space was small, no doubt, for all, 

But what could three bugs do? 

Three little bugs in a basket, 

And hardly crumbs for two; 
And all were selfish in their hearts, 

The same as I, or you; 
So the strong ones said, "We will eat the bread, 

And that is what we'll do." 

Three little bugs in a basket, 
And the beds but two would hold; 



I LOVE MY JEAN 225 

So they all three fell to quarreling — 

The white, and the black, and the gold, — 

And two of the bugs got under the rugs, 
And one was out in the cold ! 

So he that was left in the basket, 

Without a crumb to chew, 
Or a thread to wrap himself withal, 

When the wind across him blew, 
Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs, . 

And so the quarrel grew ! 

So there was war in the basket. 

Ah ! pity 'tis, 'tis true ! 
But he that was frozen and starved 

A strength from his weakness drew, 
And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs, 

And killed and ate them, too ! 

Now, when bugs live in a basket, 

Tho' more than it well can hold, 
It seems to me they had better agree, 

The white, the black, and the gold, — 
And share what comes of beds and crumbs, 

And leave no bug in the cold ! 

— Alice Cary. 



I LOVE MY JEAN 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best; 



226 RUTH 



There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And monie a hill between; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air: 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

— Robert Burns. 



RUTH 



She stood breast-high amid the corn, 
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autumn flush, 
Deeply ripened; such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born, 
Like red poppies grown with corn. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
Which were blackest none could tell, 
But long lashes veiled a light 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim, 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 



THE SOLITARY REAPER 227 

Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
Praising God with sweetest looks. 

"Sure," I said, "Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean; 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
Share my harvest and my home." 

— Thomas Hood. 



THE SOLITARY REAPER 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland Lass ! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain; 
O listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chant 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travelers in some shady haunt, 
Among Arabian sands; 
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard, 
In springtime from the cuckoo bird, 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings ? - 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
And battles long ago: 



228 THE EDUCATION OF NATURE 

Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day? 
Some natural sorrow, loss or pain, 
That has been, and may be again? 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 
I saw her singing at her work, 
And o'er the sickle bending ; — 
I listened, motionless and still; 
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore, 
Long after it was heard no more. 

— William Wordsworth. 



THE EDUCATION OF NATURE 

Three years she grew in sun and shower; 
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown; 
This Child I to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my own. 

" Myself will to my darling be 
Both law and impulse: and with me 

The girl, in rock, and plain, 
In earth and heaven, in glade and power, 
Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 

"She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs; 



THE EDUCATION OF NATURE 220. 

And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

"The floating clouds their state shall lend 
To her; for her the willow bend; 

Nor shall she fail to see 
E'en in the motions of the storm, 
Grace that shall mold the maiden's form 

By silent sympathy. 

"The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

"And vital feelings of delight 

Shall rear her form to stately height, 

Her virgin bosom swell; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
While she and I together live 

Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 
This heath, this calm and quiet scene; 
The memory of what has been, 

And never more will be. 

— William Wordsworth 



230 ENDYMION 

ENDYMION 

(selection) 

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: 

Its loveliness increases; it will never 

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep 

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 

Full of sweet dreams, and health and quiet breathing. 

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing 

A flowery band to bind us to the earth, 

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, 

Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways 

Made for our searching; yes, in spite of all, 

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, 

Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon 

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils 

With the green world they live in ; and clear rills 

That for themselves a cooling covert make 

'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, 

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; 

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms 

We have imagined for the mighty dead; 

All lovely tales that we have heard or read; 

An endless fountain of immortal drink, 

Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. 

— John Keats. 

» 

ETUDE REALISTE 

A baby's feet, like seashells pink, 

Might tempt, should heaven see meet, 



ETUDE REALISTE 

An angel's lips to kiss, we think, — 
A baby's feet. 

Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat 

They stretch and spread and wink 
Their ten soft buds that part and meet. 

No flower-bells that expand and shrink 

Gleam half so heavenly sweet, 
As shine on life's untrodden brink, — 
A baby's feet. 

A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled, 

Where yet no leaf expands, 
Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, — 
A baby's hands. 

Then, even as warriors grip their brands 

When battle's bolt is hurled, 
They close, clenched hard like tightening bands. 

No rose-buds yet by dawn impearled 

Match, even in loveliest lands, 
The sweetest flowers in all the world, — 
A baby's hands. 

A baby's eyes, ere speech begin, 
Ere lips learn words or sighs, 
Bless all things bright enough to win 
A baby's eyes. 

Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies, 

And sleep flows out and in, 
Lies perfect in their Paradise ! 



231 



232 THE MAN WITH THE HOE 

Their glance might cast out pain and sin, 

Their speech make dumb the wise, 
By mute glad godhead felt within 
A baby's eyes. 
— Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE 
(Written after seeing Millet's world-famous painting) 

Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans 

Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, 

The emptiness of ages in his face, 

And on his back the burden of the world. 

Who made him dead to rapture and despair, 

A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, 

Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? 

Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? 

Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? 

Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? 

Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave 

To have dominion over sea and land; 

To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; 

To feel the passion of Eternity? 

Is this the Dream He dreamed Who shaped the suns 

And pillared the blue firmament with light? 

?i* t* *P 5P I* *P SP 

Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; 
Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop; 
Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, 
Plundered, profaned and disinherited, 
Cries protest to the Judges of the World, 
A protest that is also prophecy. 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 

O masters, lords, and rulers in all lands, 

Is this the handiwork you give to God, 

This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? 

How will you ever straighten up this shape; 

Touch it again with immortality; 

Give back the upward looking and the light; 

Rebuild in it the music and the dream; 

Make right the immemorial infamies, 

Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes? 



O masters, lords, and rulers in all lands, 
How will the Future reckon with this Man? 
How answer his brute question in that hour 
When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world? 
How will it be with kingdoms and with kings — 
With those who shaped him to the thing he is — 
When this dumb Terror shall reply to God, 
After the silence of the centuries? 

— Edwin Markham. 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 

(selection) 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting 

And cometh from afar; 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home: 



2 33 



234 MUSIC 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy. 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, — 

He sees it in his joy; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended; 
At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

— William Wordsworth. 



MUSIC 



The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; 
The motions of his spirit are as dull as night 
And his affections dark as Erebus; 
Let no such man be trusted. 

— William Shakespeare. 



OUR MOTHER TONGUE 

Beyond the vague Atlantic deep, 
Far as the farthest prairies sweep, 
Where forest glooms the nerve appall, 
Where burns the radiant western fall; 
One duty lies on old and young, — 
With filial piety to guard, 
As on its greenest native sward, 



MELROSE ABBEY 235 

The glory of the English tongue. 
That ample speech ! That subtle speech ! 
Apt for the need of all and each : 
Strong to endure; yet prompt to bend 
Wherever human feelings tend. 
Preserve its force — expand its powers ; 
And through the maze of civic life, 
In letters, commerce, even in strife, 
Forget not it is yours and ours. 
— Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes). 



MELROSE ABBEY 

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight; 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
When the broken arches are black in night, 
And each shafted oriel glimmers white: 
When the cold light's uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruined central tower; 
When the buttress and buttress alternately, 
Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 
When silver edges the imagery, 
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; 
When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 
Then go — but go alone the while — 
Then view St. David's ruined pile; 
And home returning, soothly swear 
Was never scene so sad and fair ! 
— Sir Walter Scott (The Lay of the Last Minstrel), 



236 PLEASURES 

PLEASURES 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

— Robert Burns {Tarn o'Shanter). 



"TO GILD REFINED GOLD" 

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 

To throw a perfume on the violet, 

To smooth the ice, or add another hue 

Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 

Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 

— William Shakespeare (King John), 



KING HENRY'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS 

Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more; 

Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 

As modest stillness and humility: 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears 

Then imitate the action of the tiger; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage: 



COME, SEELING NIGHT 237 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect, 

Let it pry through the portage of the head 

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it 

As fearfully as doth a galled rock 

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To his full height ! — On, on, you noble English, 

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof ! — 

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument : — 

Dishonor not your mothers, 

******* 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
And teach them how to war ! — And you, good yeomen, 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here, 
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 
That you were worth your breeding : which I doubt not ; 
For there is none of you so mean and base, 
That hath not noble luster in your eyes. 
I see you stand like grey-hounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; 
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge 
Cry "God for Harry, England, and Saint George!" 

— William Shakespeare {Henry V) . 



COME, SEELING NIGHT 

Come, seeling night, 

Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; 

And with thy bloody and invisible hand 



238 TO-MORROW AND TO-MORROW 

Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 

Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 

Makes wing to the rooky wood; 

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, 

Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. — 

Thou marvel'st at my words: but hold thee still; 

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. 

— William Shakespeare (Macbeth). 



TO-MORROW AND TO-MORROW 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
To the last syllable of recorded time; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! 
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
And then is heard no more; it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing. 

— William Shakespeare (Macbeth). 



HOW SWEET THE MOONLIGHT 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 

Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 

Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night 

Become the touches of sweet harmony. 

Look how the floor of heaven 

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: 



THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN 239 

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 

But in his motion like an angel sings, 

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims, — 

Such harmony is in immortal souls; 

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay, 

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

— William Shakespeare {Merchant of Venice). 



THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN 

All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players: 

They have their exits and their entrances; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 

And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel 

And shining morning face, creeping like snail 

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier, 

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, 

In fair round belly with good capon lined, 

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 

Full of wise saws and modern instances; 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 



240 BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND! 

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

— William Shakespeare (As You Like It) 



BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND! 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 

Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude; 

Thy tooth is not so keen, 

Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 

Heigh-ho ! sing heigh-ho ! unto the green holly : 

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 

Then, heigh-ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 
As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remembered not. 
Heigh-ho ! sing heigh-ho ! etc. 

— William Shakespeare (As You Like It). 



TO NIGHT 



TO NIGHT 



241 



Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
Where all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrible and dear, — 

Swift be thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 

Star inwrought ! 
Bind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out; 
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand, 

Come, long-sought. 

When I arose and saw the dawn 

I sigh'd for thee; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
And the weary Day turned to his rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sighed for thee. 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

Would'st thou me? 
Thy sweet child, Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
Murmured like a noontide bee, 
Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
Would'st thou me? and I replied, 

No, not thee ! 



242 NIGHT AND DEATH 

Death will come when thou art dead, 

Soon, too soon; 
Sleep will come when thou art fled; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night, — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

Come soon, soon ! 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



NIGHT AND DEATH 

Mysterious Night ! When our first parent knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the host of heaven came, 
And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
Within thy beams, O Sun ! or who could find, 
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? 
Why do we then shun death with anxious strife ? 
If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? 

— Joseph Blanco White. 



PRELUDE TO EVANGELINE 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the 
hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twi- 
light, 



A FAREWELL 



2 43 



Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that be- 
neath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of 

the huntsman? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft and sprinkle them far o'er the 

ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand- 
ee- — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



"SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT" 

Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in passing, 
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; 
So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, 
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



A FAREWELL 

Flow down^ cold rivulet, to the sea, 
Thy tribute wave deliver: 

No more by thee my steps shall be, 
Forever and forever. 



244 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, 

A rivulet, then a river: 
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, 

Forever and forever. 

But here will sigh thine alder tree, 

And here thine aspen shiver; 
And here by thee will hum the bee, 

Forever and forever. 

A thousand suns will stream on thee, 
A thousand moons will quiver; 

But not by thee my steps shall be, 
Forever and forever. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK! 

Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

O well for the fisherman's boy, 
That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

O well for the sailor lad, 
That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill ! 

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still ! 



POOR DOC TRAY 245 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



POOR DOG TRAY 

On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh, 

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; 

No harp like my own could so cheerily play, 

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, 
She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart), 
Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away: 
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. 

Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind to be sure, 
And he constantly loved me although I was poor; 
When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away, 
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. 

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, 
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, 
How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, 
And he licked me for kindness — my old dog Tray. 

Though my wallet was scant I remembered his case, 
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face ; 
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, 
And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 



246 LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY 

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? 
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? 
To my sweet native village, so far, far away, 
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY 

Over the mountains 

And over the waves, 
Under the fountains 

And under the graves; 
Under floods that are deepest, 

Which Neptune obey, 
Over rocks that are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to He, 
Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly; 
When the midge dares not venture 

Lest herself fast she lay, 
If Love come, he will enter 

And will find out the way. 

— Old English. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S 
HALLS 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 
The soul of music shed, 



THE PATRIOT 247 

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls 

As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells; 
The chord alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 

— Thomas Moore. 



THE PATRIOT 

It was roses, roses, all the way, 

With myrtle mixed in my path like mad; 

The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, 
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, 

A year ago on this very day. 

The air broke into a mist with bells, 

The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries, 
Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels — 

But give me your sun from yonder skies ! " 
They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" 

Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun 
To give it my loving friends to keep ! 



248 OLD SONG 

Naught man could do, have I left undone: 

And you see the harvest, what I reap 
This very day, now a year is run. 

There's nobody on the house-tops now — 
Just a palsied few at the windows set; 

For the best of the sight is, all allow, 
At the Shambles' Gate, or, better yet, 

By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 

I go in the rain, and, more than needs, 
A rope cuts both my wrists behind; 

And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, 
For they fling, whoever has a mind, 

Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. 

Thus I entered, and thus I go ! 

In triumphs, people have dropped down dead, 
"Paid by the world, what dost thou owe 

Me?" God might question; now instead, 
'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. 

— Robert Browning. 



OLD SONG 



'Tis a dull sight to see the year dying, 
When winter winds set the yellow wood sighing: 
Sighing, O sighing! 

When such a time cometh I do retire 
Into an old room beside a bright fire: 
O, pile a bright fire ! 

And there I sit reading old things, 
Of knights and lorn damsels, while the wind sings 
O, drearily sings ! 



V EN VOI 



249 



I never look out nor attend to the blast; 
For all to be seen is the leaves falling fast; 
Falling, falling! 

But close at the hearth like a cricket, sit I 
Reading of summer and chivalry — 
Gallant chivalry ! 

Then the clouds part, swallows soaring between; 

The spring is alive, and the meadows are green ! 
I jump up like mad, break the old pipe in twain, 
And away to the meadows, the meadows again. 

— Edward Fitzgerald. 



L'ENVOI 



When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted 

and dried, 
When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has 

died, 
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it — lie down for an aeon 

or two, 
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work 

anew ! 

And those that were good shall be happy : they shall sit in a golden 

chair; 
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet 

hair; 
They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, Peter, 

and Paul; 
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at 

all! 



250 



OUR REVELS NOW ARE ENDED 



And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall 
blame ; 

And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame ; 
But each for the joy of the working, and each in his separate star, 
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They 

e " — Rudyard Kipling. 



"OUR REVELS NOW ARE ENDED" 

Our revels now are ended; these our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air; into thin air, 
And like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. 

— William Shakespeare (The Tempest). 



DIALOGUES 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. I 

Sohrab. Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is I. 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 
Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, 
In Samarcand, before the army marched; 
And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars and bore arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 
At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 
This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on 
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, 
And beat the Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone — 
Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet, 
Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 
His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. 
Let the two armies rest to-day; but I 
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man; if I prevail, 
Rustum will surely hear it ; if I fall — 
25 1 



252 DIALOGUES 

Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 
Dim is the rumor of a common fight, 
Where host meet host, and many names are sunk; 
But of a single combat fame speaks clear. 

Peran-Wisa, leader of Tartar hosts. O Sohrab, an unquiet 
heart is thine ! 
Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, 
And share the battle's common chance with us 
Who love thee, but must press forever first, 
In single fight incurring single risk, 
To find a father thou hast never seen? 
That were far best, my son, to stay with us 
Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is war, 
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 
To seek out Ruslum — seek him not through fight ! 
Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 
O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 
But far hence seek him, for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young, 
When Rustum was in front of every fray; 
But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, 
In Seistan, with Zal, his father old. 
Whether that his own mighty strength at last 
Feels the abhorred approaches of old age, 
Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. 
There go ! — thou wilt not ? Yet my heart f orbodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 
Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 
To us; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 
To seek thy father, not seek single fights 
In vain ; — but who can keep the lion's cub 
From ravening, and who govern 'Rustum's son? 
Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires. 



DIALOGUES 253 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. II 

Rustum. Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight. 
What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink. 

Gudurz. Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink, 
But not to-day; to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; 
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thou know'st his name — 
" Sohrab " men call him, but his birth is hid. 
O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's ! 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; 
And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, 
Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose ! 

Rustum. Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older; if the young are weak, the King 
Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 
Himself is young, and honors younger men 
And lets the aged molder to their graves. 
Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young — 
The young may rise at Sohrab 's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab 's fame? 
For would that I myself had such a son, 
And not that one slight helpless girl I have — 
A son so fame'd, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-haired Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 
There would I go and hang my armor up, 
And with my great name fence that weak old man, 
And spend the goodly treasures I have got, 



254 DIALOGUES 

And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame, 

And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 

And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more. 

Gudurz. What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks 
Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 
Hidest thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : 
Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame, 
And shuns to peril it with younger men. 

Rustum. O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words ? 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 
Are not they mortal, am not I myself? 
But who for men of naught would do great deeds? 
Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame ! 
But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms ; 
Let not men say of Rustum, he was matched 
In single fight with any mortal man. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. Ill 

(Before the combat Rustrum sees Sohrab advancing, and a deep pity 
enters his soul because of the youth, the spirit, and beauty of the young 
man.) 

Rustum. O thou young man, the air of heaven is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave is cold ! 
Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. 
Behold me ! I am vast, and clad in iron, 
And tried; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe — 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 



DIALOGUES 



2 55 



O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death ? 
Be governed ! quit the Tartar host, and come 
To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
And fight beneath my banner till I die ! 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou. 

Sohrab. Oh, by thy father's head ! by thine own soul ! 
Art thou not Rustum? speak! art thou not he? 

Rustum {eyes him askance, then turns away and speaks in an 

aside to himself). Ah me, I muse what this young fox 

may mean ! 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks, 
And hide it not, but say: " Rustum is here!" 
He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, 
But he will find some pretext not to fight, 
And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, 
A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 
And on a feast-tide in Afrasiab's hall, 
In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 
"I challenged once, when the two armies camped 
Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
To cope with me in single fight; but they 
Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I 
Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away. 
So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; 
Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me. 
(To Sohrab sternly) Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question 

thus 
Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast called 
By challenge forth ; make good thy vaunt or yield ! 
Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? 
Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee ! 
For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 
Before thy face this day, and were revealed, 



256 DIALOGUES 

There would be then no talk of fighting more. 

But being what I am, I tell thee this — 

Do thou record it in thine inmost soul: 

Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 

Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds 

Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, 

Oxus in summer wash them all away. 

Sohrab. Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright me so ! 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand 
Here on this field, there were no fighting then. 
But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 
And thou art proved, I know, and I am young. 
But yet success sways with the breath of heaven. 
And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 
The victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 
Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 
Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. 
And whether it will heave us up to land, 
Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 
We know not, and no search will make us know; 
Only the event will teach us in its hour. 

— Matthew Arnold. 



FRANKLIN AND THE GOUT 

Franklin. Eh ! oh ! eh ! What have I done to merit these 
cruel sufferings? 

Gout. Many things : you have ate and drank too freely, and too 
much indulged those legs of yours in their indolence. 



DIALOGUES 



2 57 



Franklin. Who is it that accuses me? 

Gout. It is I, even I, the Gout. 

Franklin. What! my enemy in person? 

Gout. No, not your enemy. 

Franklin. I repeat it: my enemy ; for you would not only 
torment my body to death, but ruin my good name; you reproach 
me as a glutton and a tippler; now all the world, that knows me, 
will allow that I am neither the one nor the other. 

Gout. The world may think as it pleases ; it is always very com- 
plaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends; but I very well 
know that the quantity of meat and drink proper for a man who 
takes a reasonable degree of exercise would be too much for an- 
other who never takes any. 

Franklin. I take — eh ! oh ! — as much exercise as I can, 
Madam Gout. You know my sedentary state, and on that ac- 
count, it would seem, Madam Gout, as if you might spare me a 
little, seeing it is not altogether my own fault. 

Gout. Not a jot; your rhetoric and your politeness are thrown 
away; your apology avails nothing. If your situation in life is a 
sedentary one, your amusements, your recreations, at least, should 
be active. 

Franklin. Oh ! ehhh ! — It is not fair to say I take no exer- 
cise, when I do very often, going out to dine, and returning in my 
carriage. 

Gout. That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most slight and 
insignificant if you allude to the motion of a carriage suspended 
on springs. By observing the degree of heat obtained by differ- 
ent kinds of motion, we may form an estimate of the quantity of 
exercise given by each. Thus for example, if you turn out to walk 
in winter with cold feet, in an hour's time you will be in a glow all 
over; but if you loll in a carriage, such as you have mentioned, 
you may travel all day, and gladly enter the last inn to warm your 
feet by the fire. Flatter yourself then no longer, that half an hour's 
airing in your carriage deserves the name of exercise. Providence 
s 



258 DIALOGUES 

has appointed few to roll in carriages, while he has given to all a 
pair of legs, which are machines infinitely more commodious and 
serviceable. Be grateful, then, and make a proper use of yours. 

Franklin. What, then, would you have me do with my carriage ? 

Gout. Burn it if you choose; you would at least get heat out 
of it once in this way; or if you dislike that proposal, here's an- 
other for you: observe the poor peasants who work in the vine- 
yards and grounds about the villages; you may find every day 
among these deserving creatures, four or five old men and women, 
bent and perhaps crippled by weight of years and too long and too 
great labor. After a most fatiguing day, these people have to 
trudge a mile or two to their smoky huts. Order your coachman 
to set them down. This is an act that will be good for your soul; 
and at the same time if you return on foot that will be good for 
your body. 

Franklin. Oh ! oh ! for Heaven's sake leave me, and I promise 
faithfully never more to play at chess, but to take exercise daily 
and live temperately. 

Gout. I know you too well. You promise fair; but after a 
few months of good health you will return to your old habits; 
your fine promises will be forgotten like the form of last year's 
clouds. Let us then finish the account, and I will go. But I 
leave you with an assurance of visiting you again at a proper time 
and place, for my object is your good, and you are sensible now that 
I am your real friend. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

(selection) 

Nephew. A merry Christmas, Uncle ! God save you ! 
Scrooge. Bah ! Humbug ! 

Nephew. Christmas a humbug, Uncle ! You don't mean that, 
I am sure? 



DIALOGUES 



259 



Scrooge. I do. Merry Christmas! What right have you to 
be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor 
enough. 

Nephew. Come, then, what right have you to be dismal? 
What reason have you to be morose ? You're rich enough. 

Scrooge. Bah ! Humbug ! 

Nephew. Don't be cross, Uncle ! 

Scrooge. What else can I be, when I live in such a world of 
fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! 
What's Christmas-time to you but a time for paying bills without 
money; a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour 
richer; a time for balancing your books, and having every item 
in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against 
you? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 
" Merry Christmas" on his lips should be boiled with his own 
pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He 
should ! 

Nephew. Uncle ! 

Scrooge. Nephew! keep Christmas in your own way, and let 
me keep it in mine. 

Nephew. Keep it ! But you don't keep it. 

Screoge. Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do 
you ! Much good it has ever done you ! 

Nephew. There are many things from which I might have 
derived good by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas 
among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of 
Christmas-time, when it has come round, — apart from the 
veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything be- 
longing to it can be apart from that, — as a good time ; a kind, 
forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in 
the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one 
consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people 
below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, 
and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And 



260 DIALOGUES 

therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver 
in my pocket, I believe it has done me good, and will do me good; 
and I say, God bless it ! 

— Charles Dickens. 



JULIUS CESAR 

{Quarrel between Brutus and Cassius) 

Cass. That you have wronged me doth appear in this, 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wronged yourself to write in such a case. 

Cass. In such a time as this it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. And let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cass. I an itching palm ! 

You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cass. Chastisement ! 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember: 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 



DIALOGUES 261 

And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cass. Brutus, bay not me, — 

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. 

Cass. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cass. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Bru. Away, slight man! 

Cass. Is't possible? 

Bru. Hear me for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 

Cass. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ! Ay, more : fret till your proud heart break ; 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble? Must I budge? 
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you : for from this day forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 

Cass. Is it come to this? 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so : make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of abler men. 



262 DIALOGUES 

Cass. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better: 
Did I say "better"? 

Br n. If you did, I care not. 

Cass. When Caesar lived he durst not thus have moved me. 

Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted him. 

Cass. I durst not! 

Bru. No. 

Cass. What, durst not tempt him ! 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cass. Do not presume too much upon my love; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass me by as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means; 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
By any indirection ; — I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces. 

Cass. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cass. I did not : — he was but a fool that brought 

My answer back. — Brutus hath rived my heart. 



DIALOGUES 263 

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cass. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cass. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cass. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is a-weary of the world; 
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire; 
Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cass. Hath Cassius lived 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too. 



264 DIALOGUES 

Cass. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand. 
Bru. And my heart too. 

— William Shakespeare. 



APOLLYON AND CHRISTIAN 

Apollyon. Whence came you, and whither are you bound? 

Christian. I am come from the city of Destruction, which is the 
place of all evil, and I am going to the city of Zion. 

Apoll. By this I perceive that thou art one of my subjects; for 
all that country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. How is 
it, then, that thou hast run away from thy king? Were it not that 
I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee now 
at one blow to the ground. 

Chris. I was indeed born in your dominions, but your ser- 
vice was hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on; 
for the wages of sin is death ; therefore, when I was come to years, 
I did, as other considerate persons do, look out if, perhaps, I might 
mend myself. 

Apoll. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his sub- 
jects, neither will I as yet lose thee; but since thou complainest 
of thy service and wages, be content to go back, and what our 
country will afford, I do here promise to give thee. 

Chris. But I have let myself to another, even to the King of 
Princes; and how can I with fairness go back with thee? 

Apoll. Thou hast done in this according to the proverb, "changed 
a bad for a worse" ; but it is ordinary for those that have professed 
themselves His servants, after a while to give Him the slip, and 
return again to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be well. 

Chris. I have given Him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to 
Him; how then can I go back from this and not be hanged as a 
traitor? 



DIALOGUES 265 

A poll. Thou didst the same by me, and yet I am willing to 
pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back. 

Chris. What I promised thee was in my nonage: and besides 
I count that the Prince under whose banner I now stand is able 
to absolve me, yea, and to pardon also what I did as to my con- 
pliance with thee. And besides, O thou destroying Apollyon, 
to speak truth, I like His service, His wages, His servants, His 
government, His company, and country, better than thine; there- 
fore leave off to persuade me further ; I am His servant, and I will 
follow Him. 

— John Bunyan (Pilgrim 's Progress). 



PART III 

SELECTIONS FOR MEMORIZING 

Prescribed by the New York City Course of Study 

Grade i A 

I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY 

I like little Pussy, 

Her coat is so warm; 
And if I don't hurt her, 

She'll do me no harm. 
So I'll not pull her tail, 

Nor drive her away, 
But pussy and I 

Very gently will play ; 
She shall sit by my side, 

And I'll give her some food; 
And she'll love me because 

I am gentle and good. 

I'll pat little Pussy, 

And then she will purr, 
And thus show her thanks 

For my kindness to her; 
I'll not pinch her ears, 

Nor tread on her paw, 
Lest I should provoke her 

To use her sharp claw; 
266 



WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND? 267 

I never will vex her, 

Nor make her displeased, 
For Pussy can't bear 

To be worried or teased. 

— Jane Taylor. 



THE DEWDROP 

Little drop of dew, 

Like a gem you are: 
I believe that you 

Must have been a star. 

When the day is bright, 

On the grass you lie; 
Tell me, then, at night 

Are you in the sky? 

— Frank Dempster Sherman. 



WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND? 

Who has seen the wind? 

Neither I nor you : 
But when the leaves hang trembling, 

The wind is passing through. 

Who has seen the wind? 

Neither you nor I : 
But when the trees bow down their heads, 

The wind is passing by. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



268 SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP 

SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Thy father is watching the sheep ! 

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree, 

And down drops a little dream for thee, 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

The great stars are the sheep, 

The little stars are the lambs I guess, 

The bright moon is the shepherdess, — 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

— From the German. 



RAIN 



The rain is raining all around; 
It falls on fields and tree, 
It rains on the umbrellas here, 
And on the ships at sea. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THE WIND 

I saw you toss the kites on high 
And blow the birds about the sky; 
And all around I heard you pass, 
Like ladies' skirts across the grass — 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song ! 



BOATS SAIL ON THE RIVERS 269 

I saw the different things you did, 
But always you yourself you hid. 
I felt you push, I heard you call, 
I could not see yourself at all — 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

O wind, that sings so loud a song ! 

O you that are so strong and cold, 
O blower, are you young or old? 
Are you a beast of field and tree, 
Or just a stronger child than me? 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

O wind, that sings so loud a song ! 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



BOATS SAIL ON THE RIVERS 

Boats sail on the rivers, 
And ships sail on the seas; 
But clouds that sail across the sky 
Are prettier far than these. 

There are bridges on the rivers, 

As pretty as you please; 

But the bow that bridges heaven, 

And overtops the trees, 

And builds a road from earth to sky, 

Is prettier far than these. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



270 HUMPTY DUMPTY 

NURSERY RHYMES 

HUMPTY DUMPTY 

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. 
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. 
All the king's horses and all the king's men 
Couldn't set Humpty Dumpty up again. 



MISTRESS MARY 

" Mistress Mary, quite contrary, 
How does your garden grow?" 
"With silver bells and cockle shells 
And pretty maids all in a row." 



LITTLE JACK HORNER 

Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, 

Eating a Christmas pie; 
He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum, 

And said, " What a good boy am I ! " 



LITTLE BO-PEEP 

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep, 
And can't tell where to find them; 
Leave them alone and they'll come home, 
And bring their tails behind them. 



271 



BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP! 

Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep, 
And dreamt she heard them bleating; 
But when she awoke, she found it a joke, 
For they still were all fleeting. 

Then up she took her little crook, 

Determined for to find them; 

She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, 

For they'd left their tails behind them. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE 

Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, 

The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn; 

Where's the boy that looks after the sheep? 

He's under the hay-stack, fast asleep. 

Go wake him, go wake him ! Oh, no, not 1 I 

For if I wake him, he will be sure to cry. 



BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP! 

Baa, baa ! black sheep ! 

Have you any wool? 
Yes, marry, have I, 

Three bags full. 
One for my master, 

And one for my dame, 
And one for the little boy 

Who lives in the lane. 



272 ROCK-A-BY, BABY, ON THE TREE TOP 

ROCK-A-BY, BABY, ON THE TREE TOP 

Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top, 
When the wind blows the cradle will rock; 
When the bough bends the cradle will fall; 
Down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. 



ROCK-A-BY, BABY, THY CRADLE IS GREEN 

Rock-a-by, baby, thy cradle is green, 

Father's a nobleman, Mother's a queen; 

Betty's a lady and wears a gold ring, 

And Johnny's a drummer and drums for the king. 



THIS LITTLE PIG WENT TO MARKET 

This little pig went to market; 
This little pig stayed at home; 
This little pig had roast beef; 
And this little pig had none; 
This little pig said, " Wee, wee, wee ! 
I can't find my way home." 



Grade i B 
OVER IN THE MEADOW 

Over in the meadow, 
In the sand, in the sun, 

Lived an old mother-toad 
And her little toadie one. 



OVER IN THE MEADOW 

"Wink!" said the mother; 

"I wink," said the one: 
So she winked and she blinked, 

In the sand, in the sun. 

Over in the meadow, 

Where the stream runs blue, 
Lived an old mother-fish 

And her little fishes two. 
"Swim!" said the mother; 

"We swim," said the two: 
So they swam and they leaped, 

Where the stream runs blue. 

Over in the meadow, 

In a hole in a tree, 
Lived a mother-bluebird 

And her bluebirds three. 
"Sing!" said the mother; 

"We sing," said the three: 
So they sang and were glad, 

In the hole in the tree. 

Over in the meadow, 

In the reeds on the shore, 
Lived a mother-muskrat 

And her little ratties four. 
"Dive!" said the mother; 

"We dive," said the four: 
So they dived and they burrowed, 

In the reeds on the shore. 

Over in the meadow, 
In a snug beehive, 



2 73 



274 OVER IN THE MEADOW 

Lived a mother-honey-bee 
And her little honeys five. 

"Buzz!" said the mother; 
"We buzz," said the five; 

So they buzzed and they hummed, 
In the snug beehive. 

Over in the meadow, 

In a nest built of sticks, 
Lived a black mother-crow 

And her little crows six; 
" Caw ! " said the mother; 

"We caw," said the six: 
So they cawed and they called, 

In their nest built of sticks. 

Over in the meadow, 

Where the grass is so even, 
Lived a gay mother-cricket 

And her little crickets seven. 
"Chirp!" said the mother; 

"We chirp," said the seven: 
So they chirped cheery notes 

In the grass soft and even. 

Over in the meadow 

By the old mossy gate, 
Lived a brown mother-lizard 

And her little lizards eight. 
"Bask!" said the mother; 

"We bask," said the eight; 
So they basked in the sun, 

On the old mossy gate. 



OLD GAELIC LULLABY 

Over in the meadow, 

Where the clear pools shine, 
Lived a green mother-frog 

And her little froggies nine. 
"Croak!" said the mother; 

"We croak," said the nine; 
So they croaked and they plashed 

Where the clear pools shine. 



Over in the meadow, 

In a sly little den, 
Lived a gray mother-spider 

And her little spiders ten. 
"Spin!" said the mother; 

"We spin," said the ten; 
So they spun lace webs, 

In their sly little den. 

— Olive A. Wads worth. 



2 75 



OLD GAELIC LULLABY 

Hush ! the waves are rolling in, 
White with foam, white with foam; 

Father toils amid the din; 
But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush ! the winds roar hoarse and deep 
On they come, on they come ! 

Brother seeks the wandering sheep; 
But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush ! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, 
Where they roam, where they roam; 



276 LITTLE BIRDIE 

Sister goes to seek the cows; 
But baby sleeps at home. 



LITTLE BIRDIE 

What does little birdie say 
In her nest at peep of day? 

"Let me fly," says little birdie, 

"Mother, let me fly away." 
Birdie, rest a little longer, 
Till the little wings are stronger. 

So she rests a little longer, 

Then she flies away. 

What does little baby say, 
In her bed at peep of day? 
Baby says, like little birdie, 

"Let me rise and fly away." 

Baby, sleep a little longer, 
Till the little limbs are stronger. 

If she sleeps a little longer, 

Baby too shall fly away. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THE BABY 



Where did you come from, baby dear? 

Out of the everywhere into the here. 
Where did you get your eyes so blue? 

Out of the sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 



ROBIN REDBREAST 



277 



Where did you get that little tear? 
I found it waiting when I got here. 

What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 

A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 
What makes your cheek like a warm, white rose? 

Something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? 

Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 
Where did you get that pearly ear? 

God spoke, and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands? 

Love made itself into hooks and bands. 
Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 

From the same box as the cherub's wings. 

How did they all just come to be you? 

God thought about me, and so I grew. 
But how did you come to us, you dear? 

God thought of you, and so I am here. 

— George Macdonald. 



THE GOLDEN RULE 

Be you to others kind and true, 
As you'd have others be to you. 

— The New England Primer. 



ROBIN REDBREAST 

Good-by, good-by to summer! 
For summer's nearly done; 



278 ROBIN REDBREAST 

The garden smiling faintly, 

Cool breezes in the sun. 

Our thrushes now are silent, 

Our swallows flown away, — 
But Robin's here with coat of brown, 
And ruddy breast-knot gay. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear! 
Robin sings so sweetly 
In the falling of the year. 

Bright yellow, red, and orange, 

The leaves come down in hosts; 
The trees are Indian princes, 

But soon they'll turn to ghosts; 
The leathery pears and apples 

Hang russet on the bough; 
It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 
'Twill soon be winter now. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear ! 
And what will this poor Robin do? 
For pinching days are near. 

The fireside for the cricket, 

The wheat stack for the mouse, 
When trembling night winds whistle 

And moan all round the house. 
The frosty ways like iron, 

The branches plumed with snow, — 
Alas ! in winter dead and dark, 
Where can poor Robin go ? 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
O Robin dear! 



NONSENSE ALPHABET 279 

And a crumb of bread for Robin, 
cheer ! 
— William Allingham. 



His little heart to cheer! 



CHILD'S THOUGHT OF A STAR 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star; 
How I wonder what you are ! 
Up above the world so high, 
Like a diamond in the sky ! 

When the glorious sun is set, 
When the grass with dew is wet, 
Then you show your little light, 
Twinkle, twinkle all the night. 

In the dark blue sky you keep, 
And often through my curtains peep; 
For you never shut your eye 
Till the sun is in the sky. 

As your bright and tiny spark 
Lights the traveler in the dark, 
Though I know not what you are, 
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 

— Jane Taylor. 



NONSENSE ALPHABET 

A was an ant who seldom stood still, 
And who made a nice house in the side of a hill. 
Nice little ant! 



280 NONSENSE ALPHABET 

B was a book with a binding of blue, 
And pictures and stories for me and for you. 
Nice little book ! 

C was a cat who ran after a rat; 
But his courage did fail when she seized on his tail. 
Crafty old cat ! 

D was a duck with spots on his back, 
Who lived in the water and always said, " Quack!" 
Dear little duck ! 

E was an elephant stately and wise; 
He had tusks and a trunk and two queer little eyes. 
Oh, what funny small eyes ! 

F was a fish who was caught in a net; 
But he got out again, and is quite alive yet. 
Lively young fish ! 

G was a goat who was spotted with brown: 
When he did not lie still he walked up and down. 
Good little goat ! 

H was a hat which was all on one side; 
Its crown was too high and its brim was too wide, 
Oh, what a hat! 

I was some ice so white and so nice, 
But which nobody tasted, and so it was wasted. 
All that good ice ! 

J was a jackdaw who hopped up and down 
In the principal street of a neighboring town. 
All through the town ! 



NONSENSE ALPHABET 281 

K was a kite which flew out of sight, 
Above houses so high, quite into the sky. 
Fly, away kite ! 

L was a light which burned all the night 
And lighted the gloom of a very dark room. 
Useful nice light ! 

M was a mill which stood on a hill, 

And turned round and round with a loud humming sound. 
Useful old mill ! 

N was a net which was thrown in the sea, 
To catch fish for dinner for you and for me ! 
Nice little net ! 

O was an orange so yellow and round: 
When it fell off the tree, it fell down to the ground. 
Down to the ground ! 

P was a pig who was not very big; 
But his tail was too curly and that made him surly. 
Cross little pig ! 

Q was a quail with a very short tail; 
And he fed upon corn in the evening and morn. 
Quaint little quail! 

R was a rabbit who had a bad habit 
Of eating the flowers in gardens and bowers. 
Naughty fat. rabbit! 

S was the sugar-tongs, nippity-nee, 
To take up the sugar to put in our tea. 
Nippity-nee ! 



282 SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE 

T was a tortoise all yellow and black: 
He walked slowly away, and he never came back. 
Torty never came back ! 

U was an urn all polished and bright, 
And full of hot water at noon and at night. 
Useful old urn ! 

V was a villa which stood on a hill, 

By the side of a river and close to a mill. 
Nice little villa ! 

W was a whale with a very long tail, 
Whose movements were frantic across the Atlantic. 
Monstrous old whale ! 

X was King Xerxes who, more than all Turks is 
Renowned for his fashion of fury and passion. 
Angry old Xerxes ! 

Y was a yew, which flourished and grew 
By a quiet abode near the side of a road. 

Dark little yew ! 

Z was some zinc, so shiny and bright, 
Which caused you to wink in the sun's merry light. 
Beautiful zinc ! 

— Edward Lear. 



SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE 

Sing a song of sixpence, 
A pocket full of rye; 
Four-and-twenty blackbirds 



I SAW A SHIP A-S AILING 

Baked in a pie; 
When the pie was opened, 
The birds began to sing; 
Was not that a dainty dish 
To set before the King? 

The King was in his counting-house, 
Counting out his money; 
The Queen was in the parlor, 
Eating bread and honey; 
The maid was in the garden, 
Hanging out the clothes, 
When up came a blackbird 
And nipped off her nose. 



283 



I SAW A SHIP A-SAILING 

I saw a ship a-sailing, 
A-sailing on the sea; 
And, oh ! it was all laden 
With pretty things for thee ! 

There were comfits in the cabin, 
And apples in the hold; 
The sails were made of silk 
And the masts were made of gold. 

The four-and-twenty sailors 
That stood between the decks, 
Were four-and-twenty white mice, 
With chains about their necks. 



2S4 / HAVE A LITTLE SISTER 

The captain was a duck, 

With a packet on his back; 

And when the ship began to move, 

The captain said, " Quack ! quack ! " 



I HAVE A LITTLE SISTER 

I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep; 
She wades the waters deep, deep, deep ; 
She climbs the mountains high, high, high; 
My poor little sister, she has but one eye ! 

[A Star.] 



PETER PIPER 

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, 
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked; 
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, 
Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? 



THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT 

This is the house that Jack built. 

This is the malt 

That lay in the house that Jack built. 

This is the rat, 

That ate the malt, 

That lay in the house that Jack built. 



LITTLE NANCY ETTICOAT 285 

This is the cat, 

That killed the rat, 

That ate the malt, 

That lay in the house that Jack built. 

This is the dog, 

That worried the cat, etc. 

This is the cow with the crumpled horn, 
That tossed the dog, etc. 

This is the maiden all forlorn, 

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, etc. 

This is the man all tattered and torn, 
That kissed the maiden all forlorn, etc. 

This is the priest all shaven and shorn, 

That married the man all tattered and torn, etc. 

This is the cock that crowed in the morn, 

That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, etc. 

This is the farmer sowing his corn, 

That kept the cock that crowed in the morn, etc. 



LITTLE NANCY ETTICOAT 

Little Nancy Etticoat 

In a white petticoat 

And a red rose. 

The longer she stands, 

The shorter she grows. [A Candle.] 



286 THIRTY WHITE HORSES 

THIRTY WHITE HORSES 

Thirty white horses upon a red hill, 
Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still. 

[Teeth and Gums.] 



AS I WENT THROUGH THE GARDEN GAP 

As I went through the garden gap, 

Whom should I meet but Dick Red-cap ! 

A stick in his hand, a stone in his throat, — 

If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a groat. 

[A Cherry.] 



Grade 2 A 
THE SWING 

How do you like to go up in a swing, 

Up in the air so blue? 
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing 

Ever a child can do ! 

Up in the air and over the wall, 

Till I can see so wide, 
Rivers and trees and cattle and all 

Over the country side — 

Till I look down on the garden green, 

Down on the roof so brown — 
Up in the air I go flying again, 

Up in the air and down ! 

— Robert Louts Stevenson. 



WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST 287 

BED IN SUMMER 

In winter I get up at night 

And dress by yellow candle-light, 
In summer, quite the other way, 

I have to go to bed by day. 

I have to go to bed and see 
The birds still hopping on the tree, 

Or hear the grown-up people's feet 
Still going past me in the street. 

And does it not seem hard to you, 
When all the sky is clear and blue, 

And I should like so much to play, 
To have to go to bed by day? 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST 

" To- whit, to-whit, to-whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Not I," said the cow; "moo-00! 

Such a thing I'd never do. 

I gave you a wisp of hay, 

But didn't take your nest away. 

Not I," said the cow; "moo-00! 

Such a thing I'd never do ! " 

"Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! 
Now what do you think? 



288 WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST 

Who stole a nest away 
From the plum-tree to-day?" 

"Not I," said the dog; "bow-wow! 
I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow. 
I gave the hairs the nest to make, 
But the nest I did not take. 
Not I," said the dog; "bow-wow! 
I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow ! " 

"Caw, caw!" cried the crow; 
"I should like to know 
What thief took away 
A bird's nest to-day?" 

"Cluck, cluck!" said the hen; 
"Don't ask me again; 
Why, I haven't a chick 
Would do such a trick ! 
We each gave her a feather 
And she wove them together. 
I'd scorn to intrude 
On her and her brood. 
, Cluck, cluck!" said the hen; 
"Don't ask me again." 

" Chirr-a- whirr ! chirr-a- whirr ! 
All the birds make a stir, 
Let us find out his name, 
And all cry, 'For shame V " 

"I would not rob a bird," 
Said little Mary Green; 



DAISIES 289 

"I think I never heard 
Of anything so mean." 

"It is very cruel too," 
Said little Alice Neal; 
"I wonder if he knew 
How sad the bird would feel ! " 

A little boy hung down his head, 
And went and hid behind the bed; 
For he stole that pretty nest, 
From poor little yellow-breast; 
And he felt so full of shame, 
He didn't like to tell his name. 

— Lydia Maria Child. 



DAISIES 



At evening when I go to bed 
I see the stars shine overhead; 
They are the little daisies white 
That dot the meadow of the night. 

And often while I'm dreaming so, 
Across the sky the moon will go; 
It is a lady, sweet and fair, 
Who comes to gather daisies there. 

For, when at morning I arise, 

There's not a star left in the skies; 

She's picked them all and dropped them down 

Into the meadows of the town. 

— Frank Dempster Sherman. 



290 SEVEN TIMES ONE 

SEVEN TIMES ONE 

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, 

There's no rain left in heaven : 
I've said my "seven times" over and over — 

Seven times one are seven. 
I am old ! so old, I can write a letter; 

My birthday lessons are done; 
The lambs play always, they know no better; 

They are only one times one. 

moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing, 
And shining so round and low; 

You were bright, ah, bright! but your light is failing; 

You are nothing now but a bow. 
You moon ! have you done something wrong in heaven, 

That God has hidden your face ? 

1 hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, 
And shine again in your place. 

O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, 
You've powdered your legs with gold ! 

O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, 
Give me your money to hold ! 

O columbine, open your folded wrapper 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! 

cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper 
That hangs in your clear, green bell; 

And show me your nest with the young ones in it — 
I will not steal them away; 

1 am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet — 
I am seven times one to-day. 

— Jean Ingelow. 



ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL 291 

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY 

The Rock-a-by Lady from Hush-a-by Street 

Comes stealing, comes creeping, 
The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, 
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet — 
She bringeth her poppies to you, my Sweet, 

When she findeth you sleeping! 

There is one little dream of a beautiful drum — 

" Rub-a-dub," it goeth ; 
There is one little dream of a big sugar plum, 
And lo ! thick and fast the other dreams come, 
Of pop-guns that bang, and tin tops that hum, 

And a trumpet that bloweth ! 

The dollies peep out of those wee little dreams, 

With laughter and singing; 
And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, 
And the stars peek-a-boo, with their own misty gleams, 
And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams 

The fairies go winging ! 

Would you dream all these dreams, that are tiny and fleet? 

They come to you sleeping; 
So shut the two eyes that are weary, my Sweet, 
For the Rock-a-by Lady from the Hush-a-by Street, 

Comes stealing, comes creeping. 

— Eugene Field. 

From " Poems of Childhood," by Eugene Field. Published by Chas. 
Scribner's Sons. 



ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL 

All things bright and beautiful, 
All creatures great and small, 



292 ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL 

All things wise and wonderful, 
The Lord God made them all. 



Each little flower that opens, 

Each little bird that sings, 
He made their glowing colors, 

He made their tiny wings. 

The rich man in his castle, 

The poor man at his gate, 
God made them high or lowly, 

And ordered their estate. 

The purple-headed mountain, 

The river running by, 
The sunset and the morning, 

That brightens up the sky ; — 

The cold wind in the winter, 

The pleasant summer sun, 
The ripe fruits in the garden, — 

He made them every one; 

The tall trees in the greenwood, 

The meadows where we play, 
The rushes by the water 

We gather ever day ; — 

He gave us eyes to see them, 

And lips that we might tell, 
How great is God Almighty, 

Who has. made all things well. 

— Mrs. Cecil Francis Alexander. 



DON'T KILL THE BIRDS 293 

Grade 2 B 
DON'T KILL THE BIRDS 

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, 

That sing about your door; 
Soon as the joyous spring has come, 

And chilling storms are o'er, 
The little birds, how sweet they sing! 

Oh ! let them joyous live ; 
And never seek to take the life 

That you cannot give. 

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, 

That play among the trees; 
'Twould make the earth a cheerless place, 

Should we dispense with these. 
The little birds, how fond they play ! 

Do not disturb their sport; 
But let them warble forth their songs, 

Till winter cuts them short. 

Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, 

That bless the fields and grove; 
So innocent to look upon, 

They claim our warmest love. 
The happy birds, the tuneful birds, 

How pleasant 'tis to see ! 
No spot can be a cheerless place 

Where'er their presence be. 

— COLESWORTHY. 



294 ARIEL'S SONG 

ARIEL'S SONG 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 

In a cowslip's bell I lie; 

There I couch when owls do cry: 

On the bat's back I do fly, 

After summer merrily: 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough ! 

— William Shakespeare (The Tempest). 



MY SHADOW 

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, 
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. 
He is very, very like me from heels up to the head; 
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. 

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow — 
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow ; 
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, 
And he sometimes gets so little that there is none of him at all. 

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, 
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. 
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; 
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me ! 

One morning, very early, before the sun was up, 
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; 
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, 
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. 

— Robert Louis Stevexsox. 



A DUTCH LULLABY 295 

A DUTCH LULLABY 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe — 
Sailed on a river of crystal light, 

Into a sea of dew. 
" Where are you going, and what do you wish?" 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have come to fish for the herring fish 
That live in this beautiful sea; 
Nets of silver and gold have we ! " 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sang a song, 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe, 
And the wind that sped them all night long, 

Ruffled the waves of dew. 
The little stars were the herring fish 
That lived in that beautiful sea — 
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish — 
Never afeard are we ; " 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three; 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 

To the stars in the twinkling foam — 
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 

Bringing the fishermen home; 
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed 

As if it could not be, 



296 WINDY NIGHTS 

And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea — 
But I shall name you the fishermen three; 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head; 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 
So shut your eyes while mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 
And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock in the misty sea, 
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

— Eugene Field. 

From " Poems of Childhood," by Eugene Field. Published by Chas. 
Scribner's Sons. 



WINDY NIGHTS 

Whenever the moon and stars are set, 

Whenever the wind is high, 
All night long in the dark and wet, 

A man goes riding by. 
Late in the night when the fires are out, 
Why does he gallop and gallop about? 

Whenever the trees are crying aloud, 
And ships are tossed at sea, 



STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER 297 

By on the highway, low and loud, 

By at the gallop goes he. 
By at the gallop he goes, and then 
By he comes back at the gallop again. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



LADY MOON 

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? 

Over the sea. 
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving? 

All that love me. 

Are you not tired with rolling and never 

Resting to sleep? 
Why look so pale and so sad, as forever 

Wishing to weep ? 

Ask me not this, little child, if you love me; 

You are too bold; 
I must obey my dear Father above me, 

And do as I'm told. 

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? 

Over the sea. 
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving? 
All that love me. 
— Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes). 



STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER 

"Stop, stop, pretty water!" 
Said Mary, one day, 



298 THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS 

To a frolicsome brook 
That was running away. 

"You run on so fast! 
I wish you would stay; 
My boat and my flowers 
You will carry away. 

"But I will run after; 
Mother says that I may; 
For I would know where 
You are running away." 

So Mary ran on; 
But I have heard say, 
That she never could find 
Where the brook ran away. 

— Eliza Lee Follen. 



THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS 

At evening when the lamp is lit, 
Around the fire my parents sit ; 

They sit at home, and talk and sing, 
And do not play at anything. 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl 
All in the dark along the wall, 

And follow round the forest track 
Away behind the sofa back. 



THANKSGIVING DAY 299 

There, in the night, where none can spy, 

All in my hunter's camp I lie, 
And play at books that I have read 

Till it is time to go to bed. 

These are the hills, these are the woods, 

These are my starry solitudes; 
And there the river by whose brink 

The roaring lions come to drink. 

I see the others far away, 

As if in fire-lit camp they lay, 
And I, like to an Indian scout, 

Around their party prowled about. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THANKSGIVING DAY 

Over the river and through the wood, 
To grandfather's house we go; 

The horse knows the way 

To carry the sleigh 
Through the white and drifted snow. 

Over the river and through the wood - 
Oh, how the wind does blow ! 

It stings the toes 

And bites the nose, 
As over the ground we go. 

Over the river and through the wood, 
To have a first-rate play; 



300 / LIVE FOR THOSE WHO LOVE ME 

Hear the bells ring, 
"Ting-a-ling-ding ! " 
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day ! 

Over the river and through the wood, 
Trot fast, my dapple-gray ! 

Spring over the ground, 

Like a hunting hound ! 
For this is Thanksgiving Day. 

Over the river and through the wood, 
And straight through the barn-yard gate, 

We seem to go 

Extremely slow — 
It is so hard to wait ! 

Over the river and through the wood — 
Now grandmother's cap I spy ! 

Hurrah for the fun ! 

Is the pudding done ? 
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie ! 

— Lydia Maria Child. 



Grade 3 A 

I LIVE FOR THOSE WHO LOVE ME 

I live for those who love me, whose hearts are kind and true, 
For the heaven that smiles above me, and awaits my spirit too; 
For all human ties that bind me, for the task by God assigned 

me; 
For the bright hopes yet to find me, and the good that I can do. 



THE BROWN THRUSH 30 1 

I live to learn their story who suffered for my sake ; 
To emulate their glory and follow in their wake : 
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, the noble of all ages, 
Whose deeds crowd History's pages, and Time's great volume 
make. 

I live to hold communion with all that is divine, 
To feel there is a union 'twixt Nature's heart and mine; 
To profit by affliction, reap truth from fields of fiction, 
Grow wiser from conviction, and fulfill God's great design. 

******* 
I live for those who love me, for those who know me true ; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, and awaits my spirit too ; 
For the cause that lacks assistance, for the wrong that needs re- 
sistance, 
For the future in the distance, and the good that I can do. 

— G. Linnaeus Banks. 



THE BROWN THRUSH 

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in a tree. 
He's singing to me ! he's singing to me ! 
And what does he say, little girl, little boy? 
"Oh! the world's running over with joy! 

Don't you hear? Don't you see? 

Hush ! look in this tree, 

I'm as happy as happy can be." 

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, 
And five eggs are hid in the big cherry tree ? 
Don't meddle, don't touch, little girl, little boy, 
Or the world will lose some of its joy ! 



302 THE TREE 

Now I'm glad ! now I'm free ! 

And I always shall be, 

If you never bring sorrow to me." 

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, 

To you and to me, to you and to me; 

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy; 

"Oh, the world's running over with joy! 
But long it won't be — 
Don't you know ? don't you see ? 
Unless we're as good as we ever should be." 

— Lucy Larcom. 



THE TREE 



Green stood the Tree, with its leaves tender-bright. 

"Shall I take them?" said Frost, as he breathed thro' the night. 

"Oh ! pray let them be, 

Till my blossoms you see ! " 
Begged the Tree, as she shivered and shook in affright. 

Sweet sang the birds the fair blossoms among. 

"Shall I take them?" said Wind, as he swayed them and swung. 

"Oh ! pray let them be, 

Till my berries you see I " 
Begged the Tree, as its branches all quivering hung. 

Bright grew the berries beneath the sun's heat. 

"Shall I take them?" said Lassie, so young and so sweet. 

"Ah! take them, I crave, 

Take all that I have ! " 
Begged the Tree, as it bent its full boughs to her feet. 

— BjORNSTJERNE BjORNSON. 



THE OWL AND THE PUSSY CAT 303 

WISHING 

Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose, 

A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring ! 

The stooping bough above me, 

The wandering bee to love me, 
The fern and moss to creep across, 

And the Elm-tree for our king ! 

Nay, — stay ! I wish I were an Elm- tree, 

A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay ! 

The winds would set them dancing, 

The sun and moonshine glance in, 
And birds would house among the boughs, 

And sweetly sing. 

Oh — no ! I wish I were a Robin, — 

A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go, 

Through forest, field, or garden, 

And ask no leave or pardon, 
Till winter comes with icy thumbs 

To ruffle up our wing ! 

Well, — tell ! where should I fly to, 
Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell ? 

Before the day was over, 

Home must come the rover, 
For mother's kiss, — sweeter this 

Than any other thing. 

— William Allingham. 



THE OWL AND THE PUSSY CAT 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat went to sea 
In a beautiful pea-green boat. 



304 THE VIOLET 

They took some honey, and plenty of money 

Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 
The Owl looked up to the moon above, 

And sang to a small guitar, 
"Oh, lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love! 

What a beautiful Pussy you are, — you are; 

What a beautiful Pussy you are ! " 

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! 

How wonderful sweet you sing! 
Oh, let us be married, — too long we have tarried, — 

But what shall we do for a ring?" 
They sailed away for a year and a day 

To the land where the Bong-tree grows, 
And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood 

With a ring in the end of his nose, — his nose ; 

With a ring in the end of his nose. 

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling 

Your ring? " Said the piggy, "I will." 
So they took it away, and were married next day 

By the turkey who lives on the hill. 
They dined upon mince and slices of quince, 

Which they ate with a runcible spoon, 
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 

They danced by the light of the moon, — the moon ; 

They danced by the light of the moon. 

— Edward Lear. 



THE VIOLET 

Down in a green and shady bed 
A modest violet grew, 



HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 305 

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, 
As if to hide from view. 

And yet it was a lovely flower, 

Its colors bright and fair; 
It might have graced a rosy bower 

Instead of hiding there. 

Yet there it was content to bloom 

In modest tints arrayed; 
And there diffused its sweet perfume 

Within the silent shade. 

Then let me to the valley go, 

This pretty flower to see, 
That I may also learn to grow 

In sweet humility. 

— Jane Taylor. 



HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 

At the door on summer evenings, 
Sat the little Hiawatha; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder; 
" Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, 
" Mudway-aushka ! " said the water. 
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes. 
And he sang the song of children, 
x 



306 HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 

Sang the song Nokomis taught him: 
"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle, 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " 

Saw the moon rise from the water, 
Rippling, rounding from the water, 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis ?" 
And the good Nokomis answered, 
"Once a warrior, very angry, 
Seized his grandmother and threw her 
Up into the sky at midnight; 
Right against the moon he threw her; 
'Tis her body that you see there." 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky the rainbow, 
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered: 
"'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there: 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie, 
When on earth they fade and perish 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 

3JS S|S S|« 5fS 3|C 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How they built their nests in summer, 
Where they hid themselves in winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." 



HIAWATHA'S SAILING 307 

Of all beasts he learned the language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges, 
Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Brothers." 



HIAWATHA'S SAILING 

"Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree! 

Of your yellow bark, O Birch Tree ! 

Growing by the rushing river, 

Tall and stately in the valley! 

I a light canoe will build me, 

Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, 

That shall float upon the river, 

Like a yellow leaf in autumn, 

Like a yellow water-lily ! 

Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree ! 

Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 

For the summer time is coming, 

And the sun is warm in heaven, 

And you need no white-skin wrapper!" 

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were singing. 
And the Sun, from sleep awaking, 
Started up and said, "Behold me! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " 



308 THE WONDERFUL WORLD 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!" 

With his knife the tree he girdled, 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing outward; 
Down the trunk, from top to bottom, 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 
With a wooden wedge he raised it, 
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded, 
In the valley by the river, 
In the bosom of the forest; 
And the forest's life was in it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 
All the lightness of the birch tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



Grade 3 B 

THE WONDERFUL WORLD 

Great, wide, wonderful, beautiful World, 
With the wonderful water about you curled 



MARJORIE'S ALMANAC 309 

And the wonderful grass upon your breast — 
World, you are beautifully dressed ! 

The wonderful air is over me, 
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree; 
It walks on the water and whirls the mills, 
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. 

You friendly Earth, how far do you go, 
With wheat fields that nod, and rivers that flow, 
And cities and gardens, and oceans and isles, 
And people upon you for thousands of miles? 

Oh ! you are so great and I am so small 
I hardly can think of you, World, at all; 
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day 
My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay, 

"If the wonderful World is great to you, 

And great to father and mother, too, 

You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot ! 

You can love and think, and the Earth cannot ! " 

— William Brighty Rands. 



MARJORIE'S ALMANAC 

Robins in the tree top, 

Blossoms in the grass, 
Green things a-growing 

Everywhere you pass; 
Sudden little breezes, 

Showers of silver dew, 
Black bough and bent twig 

Budding out anew; 



310 MARJORIE'S ALMANAC 

Pine tree and willow tree, 
Fringed elm, and larch, — 

Don't you think that May-time's 
Pleasanter than March? 

Apples in the orchard 

Mellowing one by one; 
Strawberries upturning 

Soft cheeks to the sun; 
Roses faint with sweetness, 

Lilies fair of face, 
Drowsy scents and murmurs 

Haunting every place; 
Lengths of golden sunshine, 

Moonlight bright as day, — 
Don't you think that summer's 

Pleasanter than May? 

Roger in the corn-patch 

Whistling negro songs; 
Pussy by the hearthside 

Romping with the tongs; 
Chestnuts in the ashes, 

Bursting through the rind; 
Red leaf and gold leaf 

Rustling down the wind; 
Mother "doin' peaches" 

All the afternoon, — 
Don't you think that autumn's 

Pleasanter than June ? 

Little fairy snow-flakes 
Dancing in the flue ; 

Old Mr. Santa Claus, 
What is keeping you? 



A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 311 

Twilight and firelight 

Shadows come and go; 
Merry chime of sleigh bells 

Tinkling through the snow; 
Mother knitting stockings 

(Pussy's got the ball), — 
Don't you think that winter's 

Pleasanter than all? 

— Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 



A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; 

And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, 

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

Away to the window I flew like a flash, 

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, 

Gave a luster of midday to objects below; 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, 

With a little old driver so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: 



312 A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen ! 

On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Donder and Blitzen ! — 

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! 

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away, all!" 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 

So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too. 

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, 

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. 

His eyes how they twinkled ! his dimples how merry ! 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; 

He had a broad face and a little round belly 

That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf ; 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; 

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, 

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, 

And laying his finger aside of his nose, 

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, 

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; 



THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER 313 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" 

— Clement C. Moore. 



THE OWL 



When the cats run home and the light is come, 

And dew is cold upon the ground, 
And the far-off stream is dumb, 
And the whirring sail goes round, 
And the whirring sail goes round, 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

When merry milk-maids click the latch 
And rarely smells the new-mown hay, 
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch 
Twice or thrice his roundelay, 
Twice or thrice his roundelay, 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER 

We were crowded in the cabin, 
Not a soul would dare to sleep, - 

It was midnight on the waters, 
And a storm was on the deep. 

' Tis is a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered in the blast, 



314 SWEET AND LOW 

And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!" 

So we shuddered there in silence, — 

For the stoutest held his breath, 
While the hungry sea was roaring, 

And the breakers talked with Death. 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy in his prayers, — 
" We are lost ! " the captain shouted, 

As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered, 

As she took his icy hand, 
"Is not God upon the Ocean, 

Just the same as on the land?" 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 

And we spoke in better cheer; 
And we anchored safe in harbor 

When the morn was shining clear. 

— James T. Fields. 



SWEET AND LOW 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea! 
Over the rolling waters go, 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 



THE NIGHT WIND 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 

Father will come to thee soon; 
Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 

Father will come to thee soon; 
Father will come to his babe in the nest, — 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon: 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep ! 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



3i5 



Grade 4 A 
THE NIGHT WIND 

Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? 

'Tis a pitiful sound to hear ! 
It seems to chill you through and through 

With a strange and speechless fear. 
'Tis the voice of the night that broods outside 

When folk should be asleep, 
And many and many's the time I've cried 
To the darkness brooding far and wide 

Over the land and the deep : 
"Whom do you want, O lonely night, 

That you wail the long hours through?" 
And the night would say in its ghostly way: 
" Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! " 

My mother told me long ago 
(When I was a little lad) 



316 THE NIGHT WIND 

That when the night went wailing so, 

Somebody had been bad; 
And then, when I was snug in bed, 

Whither I had been sent, 
With the blankets pulled up round my head, 
I'd think of what my mother'd said, 
And wonder what boy she meant ! 
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask 

Of the wind that hoarsely blew, 
And the voice would say in its meaningful way : 
" Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! " 

That this was true I must allow — 

You'll not believe it, though ! 
Yes, though I'm quite a model now, 

I was not always so. 
And if you doubt what things I say, 

Suppose you make the test; 
Suppose, when you've been bad some day 
And up to bed are sent away 

From mother and the rest — 
Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" 

And then you'll hear what's true; 
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: 
" Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! 
Yoooooooo ! " 

— Eugene Field. 

From "Poems of Childhood," by Eugene Field, published by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 317 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 

Descending the broad hall stair, 
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 

And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes, 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 

A sudden raid from the hall ! 
By three doors left unguarded 

They enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair; 
If I try to escape, they surround me; 

They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 



318 JACK FROST 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeons 

In the round tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the wall shall crumble to ruin, 

And molder in dust away. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



JACK FROST 

The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, 
And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight; 
So, through the valley, and over the height, 

In silence I'll take my way. 
I will not go on like that blustering train, 
The wind, and the snow, the hail and the rain, 
That makes such a bustle and noise in vain; 

But I'll be as busy as they!" 

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest, 
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed 
With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast 

Of the quivering lake, he spread 
A coat of mail, that it need not fear 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN 



319 



The glittering point of many a spear 
Which he flung on its margin, far and near, 
Where a rock could rear its head ; 

He went to the window of those who slept, 
And over each pane like a fairy crept: 
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, 

By the morning light were seen 
Most beautiful things ! — there were flowers and trees, 
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees; 
There were cities, and temples, and towers; and these 

All pictured in silvery sheen ! 

But he did one thing that was hardly fair; 
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there 
That all had forgotten for him to prepare, 

"Now, just to set them a-thinking, 
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, 
" This costly pitcher I'll burst in three ! 
And the glass of water they've left for me, 

Shall ' tchick,' to tell them I'm drinking." 

— Hannah Gould. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 

Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain side or mead, 
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee." 



3 2 ° 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright, black wedding coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
Hear him call in his merry note: 

"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
Look what a nice new coat is mine; 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quaint, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 
Broods in the grass while her husband sings 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
Brood, kind creature, you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight, 
There as the mother sits all day, 
Robert is singing with all his might: 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
Nice good wife that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
Six wide mouths are opened for food; 

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering food for the hungry brood, 



"HE PRAYETH BEST" 

"Bob-oMink, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 

Chee, chee, chee." 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air: 

"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
Nobody knows but my mate and I, 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Summer wanes; the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone, 
Off he flies and we sing as he goes: 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink, 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again, 
Chee, chee, chee." 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



321 



"HE PRAYETH BEST" 

He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 
He prayeth best who loveth best 



322 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

All things both great and small; 
For the dear God Who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all. 

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

With his pipe in his mouth, 
And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
" I pray thee put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 

And to-night no moon we see!" 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 
A gale from the northeast; 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 323 

The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain, 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church bells ring, 

Oh, say, what may it be?" 
11 'Tis a fog-bell, on a rock-bound coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

Oh, say, what may it be?" 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea!" 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

Oh, say, what may it be?" 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 



324 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow- 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

*P *P f* *t* *r *T* 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 

With the masts went by the board; 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 

Ho ! Ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair like the brown sea- weed 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE FOUNTAIN 325 

Grade 4 B 
THE FOUNTAIN 

Into the sunshine, 

Full of the light, 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn till night; 

Into the moonlight, 

Whiter than snow, 
Waving so flower-like 

When the winds blow; 

Into the starlight, 

Rushing in spray, 
Happy at midnight, 

Happy by day; 

Ever in motion, 

Blithsome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward, 

Never aweary ; — 

Glad of all weathers 

Still seeming best, 
Upward or downward, 

Motion thy rest; 

Full of a nature 

Nothing can tame, 
Changed every moment, 

Ever the same; 

Ceaseless aspiring, % 

Ceaseless content, 



326 SEPTEMBER 

Darkness or sunshine 
Thy element; 



Glorious fountain, 

Let my heart be, 
Fresh, changeful, constant, 

Upward, like thee ! 

— James Russell Lowell. 



SEPTEMBER 

The golden-rod is yellow, 
The corn is turning brown, 
The trees and apple orchards 
With fruit are bending down. 

The gentian's bluest fringes 
Are curling in the sun, 
In dusty pods the milkweed 
Its hidden silk has spun. 

The sedges flaunt their harvest, 
In every meadow nook, 
Asters by the brook-side 
Make asters in the brook. 

From dewy lanes at morning 
The grapes' sweet odors rise, 
At noon the roads all flutter 
With yellow butterflies. 

By all these lovely tokens, 
September days are here, 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 327 

With summer's best of weather, 
And autumn's best of cheer. 

— Helen Hunt Jackson. 

Copyright, Little, Brown & Company. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night 
You can hear his bellows blow, 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And the children coming home from school, 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 



328 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Tolling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 

Onward through life he goes; 
Each morning sees some task begun 

Each evening sees it close; 
Something attempted, something done 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught; 
Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought! 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE BAREFOOT BOY 329 

A FABLE 

The mountain and the squirrel 

Had a quarrel, 

And the former called the latter "Little Prig"; 

Bun replied, 

"You are doubtless very big, 

But all sorts of things and weather 

Must be taken in together 

To make up a year 

And a sphere. 

And I think it no disgrace 

To occupy my place : 

If I'm not so large as you, 

You are not so small as I, 

And not half so spry. 

I'll not deny you make 

A very pretty squirrel track; 

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; 

If I cannot carry forests on my back, 

Neither can you crack a nut." 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THE BAREFOOT BOY 

Blessings on thee, little man, 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes; 
With thy red lips, redder still, 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace : 



330 THE BAREFOOT BOY 

From my heart I give thee joy; 
I was once a barefoot boy ! 

***** 
Oh for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules; 
Knowledge (never learned of schools). 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild flower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood, 
How the tortoise bears his shell, 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow, 
Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 
Of the black wasp's cunning way, — 
Mason of his walls of clay, — 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artizans ! — 
For, eschewing books and tasks, 
Nature answers all he asks; 
Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks, 
Part and parcel of her joy, — 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can, 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS 331 

Stubble-speared the new- mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil 
Up and down in ceaseless moil; 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground, — 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, Barefoot Boy ! 

— John Greenleaf Whittier. 



Grade 5 A 

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS 

The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 



332 THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came, 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums 

And the trumpet that speaks of fame. 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence, and in fear ; — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amid the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea; 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 

To the anthems of the free ! 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam; 
And the rocking pine of the forest roared, — 

This was their welcome home ! 

***** 
What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas ; the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine. 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod; 
They have left unstained what there they found — 

Freedom to worship God. 

— Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



THE DAY IS DONE 333 

THE DAY IS DONE 

The day is done, and the darkness 

Falls from the wings of Night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 

From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist: 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 

Some simple and heartfelt lay, 
That shall soothe this restless feeling 

And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 

Not from the bards sublime, 
Whose distant footsteps echo 

Through the corridors of Time. 

Read from some humble poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
As showers from the clouds of summer, 

Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Such songs have power to quiet 
The restless pulse of care, 



334 SONG 

And come like the benediction 
That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day, 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



SONG 



Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

— William Shakespeare (As You Like It). 



WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE! 335 

A SEA DIRGE 

Full fathom five thy father lies; 

Of his bones are coral made; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes; 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 

Into something rich and strange. 
Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell: 

Hark, now I hear them, — 
Ding, dong, bell. 
— William Shakespeare {The Tempest). 



WOODMAN. SPARE THAT TREE! 

Woodman, spare that tree ! 

Touch not a single bough ! 
In youth it sheltered me, 

And I'll protect it now. 
'Twas my forefather's hand 

That placed it near his cot; 
There, woodman, let it stand, 

Thy ax shall harm it not ! 

That old familiar tree, 

Whose glory and renown, 
Are spread o'er land and sea — 

And would'st thou hew it down? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! 

Cut not its earth-bound ties; 
Oh, spare that aged oak, 

Now towering to the skies ! 



336 THE GLADNESS OF NATURE 

When but an idle boy, 

I sought its grateful shade; 
In all their gushing joy, 

Here, too, my sisters played; 
My mother kissed me here; 

My father pressed my hand — 
Forgive this foolish tear, 

But let the old oak stand ! 

My heart-strings round thee cling, 

Close as thy bark, old friend ! 
Here shall the wild bird sing, 

And still thy branches bend. 
Old tree ! the storm still brave ! 

And, woodman, leave the spot; 
While I've a hand to save, 

Thy ax shall harm it not. 

— George P. Morris. 



THE GLADNESS OF NATURE 

Is this the time to be cloudy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around, — 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; 

The ground squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
And the wilding-bee hums merrily by. 

The clouds are at play in the azure space, 

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 



EXCELSIOR 337 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 

And look on the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 

On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, 
On the leaping waters and gay young isles, — 

Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away ! 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



EXCELSIOR 



The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright, 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 



338 EXCELSIOR 



"Try not the Pass!" the old man said; 
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead; 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide." 
And loud the clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"Oh, stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! 
Beware the awful avalanche," 
This was the peasant's last good-night. 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 

A traveler, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful he lay; 
And from the sky, serene and far 
A voice fell like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE WORLD WANTS MEN 339 

THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak, 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



Grade 5 B 
THE WORLD WANTS MEN 

The world wants men, large-hearted, manly men, 
Men who shall join its chorus and prolong 
The song of labor and the song of love. 

The time wants scholars, scholars who shall shape 
The doubtful destiny of dubious years 
And land the ark that bears our country's good 

Safe on some peaceful Ararat at last. 

The age wants heroes, heroes who shall dare 
To struggle in the solid ranks of truth ; 
To clutch the monster error by the throat; 



340 ALADDIN 

To bear opinion to a loftier seat; 
To plot the era of oppression out 
And lead a universal freedom in. 

And Heaven wants souls; fresh and capacious souls 
To taste its rapture and expand like flowers 
Beneath the glory of the central Sun. 
It wants fresh souls — not lean and shriveled ones — 

It wants fresh souls, my brother, give it thine. 

If thou indeed wilt be a hero and wilt strive 
To help thy fellow and exalt thyself, 
Thy feet at last shall stand on jasper floors, 
Thy heart shall seem a thousand hearts, 
Each single heart with myriad raptures filled, 
Whilst thou shalt sit with princes and with kings, 

Rich in the jewel of a ransomed soul. 



— Anon. 



ALADDIN 



When I was a beggarly boy, 

And lived in a cellar damp, 
I had not a friend nor a toy, 

But I had Aladdin's lamp; 
When I could not sleep for the cold, 

I had fire enough in my brain, 
And builded with roofs of gold, 

My beautiful castles in Spain ! 

Since then I have toiled day and night, 
I've had money and power good store, 

But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright, 
For the one that is mine no more; 



A PSALM OF LIFE 341 

Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, 

You gave, and may snatch again; 
I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, 

For I own no more castles in Spain. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



A PSALM OF LIFE 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
"Life is but an empty dream I" 
For the soul is dead that slumbers 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! life is earnest ! 
And the grave is not its goal; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
Is our destined end or way; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
Be a hero in the strife ! 



342 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act — act in the living Present ! 
Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime 
And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with heaven's own blue, 
That openest, when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 

Thou comest not when violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dressed, 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 343 

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mold with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them tenderly, 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet, 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

What plant we in the apple-tree? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; 
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest; 

We plant upon the sunny lea, 



344 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 

A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower," 
When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard row, he pours 
Its fragrance through the open doors; 

A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, 
And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, with cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when above this apple-tree, 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night, 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth, 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine, 
And golden orange of the line, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 345 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view, 
And ask in what fair groves they grew; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

" Who planted this old apple-tree ? " 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem, 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude by good old times; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes, 

On planting the apple-tree." 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 



»46 BARBARA FRIETCHIE 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall, 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down; 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced; the old flag met his sight. 

" Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
" Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 347 

It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf, 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word: 

" Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet: 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell, 

On the loyal winds that loved it well; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 



348 TO-DA Y 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

— John Greenleaf Whittier. 



TO-DAY 



So here hath been dawning 

Another blue day: 
Think, wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away? 

Out of eternity 

This new day was born; 
Into Eternity 

At night will return. 

Behold it aforetime 

No eye ever did; 
So soon it forever 

From all eyes is hid. 

Here hath been dawning 

Another blue day: 
Think, wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away? 



Thomas Carlyle. 



Grade 6 A 
ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE 

Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
And the mountain tops that freeze, 
Bow themselves, when he did sing: 



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 349 

To his music plants and flowers 
Ever sprung, as sun and showers 
There had made a lasting spring. 

Everything that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care and grief of heart 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 

— Shakespeare (King Henry VIII). 



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen: 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 



350 A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ! 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 

— George Gordon, Lord Byron. 



A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT 

Is there, for honest poverty 

That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
The man's the gowd for a' that ! 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 
Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; 
Give fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that ! 

$ :£ % ♦ ♦ 

A prince can mak' a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a' that; 



THE MINSTREL-BOY 

But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Gude faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a' that and a' that, 

Their dignities and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the 'gree and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
When man to man, the world o'er, 
Shall brothers be, for a' that. 

— Robert Burns. 



35i 



THE MINSTREL-BOY 

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, 

In the ranks of death you'll find him, 
His father's sword he has girded on, 

And his wild harp slung behind him. 
"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, 

"Though all the world betrays thee, 
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 

One faithful harp shall praise thee!" 

The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain 
Could not bring his proud soul under; 

The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, 
For he tore its chords asunder, 

And said, "No chains shall sully thee, 
Thou soul of love and bravery ! 



352 ABOU BEN ADHEM 

Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 
They shall never sound in slavery!" 

— Thomas Moore. 



ABOU BEN ADHEM 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold ; — 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the Presence in the room he said, 
"What writest thou?" — The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel — Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, 
And lo, Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 

— Leigh Hunt. 
♦ 

THE FIRST SNOWFALL 

The snow had begun in the gloaming, 

And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

With a silence deep and white. 



THE FIRST SNOWFALL 353 

Every pine and fir and hemlock 

Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 

Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara 

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, 
The stiff rails softened to swan's .down, 

And still fluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched at the window 

The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, 

Like brown leaves whirling by. 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, 

Where a little headstone stood; 
How the flakes were folding it gently, 

As did robins the babes in the wood. 

Up spoke our own little Mabel, 

Saying, " Father, who makes it snow ? " 

And I told of the good All-father 
Who cares for us here below. 

Again I looked at the snowfall, 

And thought of the leaden sky 
That arched o'er our first great sorrow, 

When that mound was heaped so high. 

I remembered the gradual patience 

That fell from that cloud like snow, 
Flake by flake, healing and hiding 

The scar that renewed our woe. 



354 NOBILITY 

And again to the child I whispered, 

" The snow that husheth all, 
Darling, the merciful Father 

Alone can make it fall ! " 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; 

And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister, 
Folded close under deepening snow. 

— James Russell Lowell. 
♦ 

NOBILITY 

True worth is in being, not seeming, 
In doing each day, as it goes by, 
Some little good — not in the dreaming 
Of great things to do by and by. 
For whatever men say in blindness, 
And spite of the fancies of youth, 
There's nothing so kingly as kindness 
And nothing so royal as truth. 

We get back our mete, as we measure, 
We cannot do wrong and feel right, 
Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, 
For justice avenges each slight. 
The air for the wing of the sparrow, 
The bush for the robin and wren, 
But always the path that is narrow 
And straight for the children of men. 

'Tis not in the pages of story 

The heart of its ills to beguile, 

Though he who makes courtship to glory 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE 355 

Gives all that he hath for her smile. 

For when from her heights he hath won her, 

Alas ! it is only to prove 

That nothing's so sacred as honor, 

And nothing's so loyal as love. 

We cannot make bargains for blisses, 
Nor catch them like fishes in nets, 
And sometimes the thing our life misses, 
Helps more than the thing which it gets. 
For good lieth not in pursuing 
Nor gaining of great nor of small, 
But just in the doing and doing 
As we would be done by, by all. 

Through envy, through malice, through hating 
Against the world early and late, 
No jot of our courage abating, — 
Our part is to work and to wait. 
And slight is the sting of his trouble 
Whose winnings are less than his worth, 
For he who is honest is noble 
Whatever his fortune or birth. 

— Alice Cary. 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE 

Up from the South at break of day, 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door 
The terrible grumble, and rumble and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 



356 SHERIDAN'S RIDE 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar; 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good, broad highway leading down; 
And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night, 
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight; 
As if he knew the terrible need, 
He stretched away with his utmost speed; 
Hills rose and fell, — but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Under his spurning feet the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Like an ocean flying before the wind, 
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire, 
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of ire; 
But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; 
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; 

What was done? — what to do? — a glance told him both, 

Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, 

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 357 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 
By the flash of his eye and the red nostril's play, 
He seemed to the whole great army to say: 
"I've brought you Sheridan all the way, 
From Winchester, down to save the day ! " 

Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky — 
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame — 
There with the glorious general's name, 
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, 
"Here is the steed that saved the day, 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
From Winchester, twenty miles away!" 

— Thomas Buchanan Read. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 

Our band is few but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 



358 SONG OF MARION'S MEN 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A might host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil; 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout, 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered, 

To crown the soldiers' cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pinetop grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On the beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain; 
'Tis life to feel the night- wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 



THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT 359 

A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

Forever, from our shore. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



Grade 6 B 
THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT 

The Spacious Firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky, 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great Original proclaim. 
The unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his Creator's power display, 
And publishes to every land 

The work of an almighty hand. 
Soon as the evening shades prevail, 

The moon takes up the wond'rous tale, 



360 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 

And nightly to the listening earth 

Repeats the story of her birth ; 
While all the stars that round her burn, 

And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
What though, in solemn silence, all 

Move round the dark terrestrial ball? 
What though no real voice, nor sound, 

Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 

And utter forth a glorious voice; 
Forever singing as they shine, 

"The hand that made us is divine." 

— Addison. 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
The sods with our bayonets turning; 

By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him: 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest 
With his martial cloak around him. 



THE BUILDERS 361 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — 
But we left him alone with his glory. 

— Charles Wolfe. 



THE BUILDERS 

All are architects of Fate, 
Working in these walls of Time; 

Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low; 
Each thing in its place is best; 



362 OLD IRONSIDES 

And what seems but idle show 
Strengthens and supports the rest. 

1* *t* I* T* 

In the elder days of Art, 
Builders wrought with greatest care 

Each minute and unseen part; 
For the Gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the seen; 

Make the house, where Gods may dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete 
Standing in these walls of time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 
With a firm and ample base; 

And ascending and secure 
Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 
To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of sky. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



OLD IRONSIDES 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 
Long has it waved on high, 



ONE BY ONE 363 

And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; — 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee ; — 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunder shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave; 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, — 

The lightning and the gale ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



ONE BY ONE 

One by one the sands are flowing, 
One by one the moments fall; 

Some are coming, some are going; 
Do not strive to grasp them all. 



364 ONE BY ONE 

One by one thy duties wait thee, 
Let thy whole strength go to each; 

Let no further dreams elate thee, 

Learn thou first what these .can teach. 

One by one (bright gifts from Heaven), 

Joys are sent thee here below; 
Take them readily when given, 

Ready, too, to let them go. 

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 

Do not fear an armed band; 
One will fade as others greet thee; 

Shadows passing through the land. 

Do not look at life's long sorrow; 

See how small each moment's pain; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 

So each day begin again. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 

Has its task to do or bear; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 

When each gem is set with care. 

Do not linger with regretting, 

Or for passing hours despond; 
Nor, the daily toil forgetting, 

Look too eagerly beyond. 

Hours are golden links, God's token 
Reaching heaven; but one by one 

Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 

— Adelaide Procter. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 365 

"BREATHES THERE THE MAN" 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own — my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the one, the Blue, 

Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 
Those in the gloom of defeat; 



366 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

All with the battle blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet; 

Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours, 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 

Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all: 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue, 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 

The cooling drip of the rain; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 367 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done; 
In the storm of the years that are fading 

No braver battle was won; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day, 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 

Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever, 

When they laurel the graves of our dead: 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Love and tears for the Blue; 

Tears and love for the Gray. 

— Francis Miles Finch. 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 

It was a hundred years ago, 
When, by the woodland ways, 
The traveler saw the wild deer drink, 
Or crop the birchen sprays. 

Beneath a hill, whose rocky side 
O'erbrowed a grassy mead, 
And fenced a cottage from the wind, 
A deer was wont to feed. 

She only came when on the cliffs 
The evening moonlight lay, 



368 THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 

And no man knew the secret haunts 
In which she walked by day. 

White were her feet, her forehead showed 
A spot of silvery white, 
That seemed to glimmer like a star 
In autumn's hazy night. 

The cottage dame forbade her son 
To aim the rifle here, 
"It were a sin," she said, "to harm 
Or fright that friendly deer. 

"This spot has been my pleasant home 
Ten peaceful years and more, 
At even, when the moonlight shines, 
She feeds before our door. 

"The red men say that here she walked 
A thousand moons ago, 
They never raise the war-whoop here, 
And never twang the bow. 

" I love to watch her as she feeds, 
And think that all is well 
While such a gentle creature haunts 
The place in which we dwell." 

The youth obeyed, and sought for game 
In forests far away, 
Where deep in silence and in moss, 
The ancient woodland lay. 

But once, in autumn's golden time 
He ranged the wild in vain, 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 369 

Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, 
And wandered home again. 

The crescent moon and crimson eve 
Shone with a mingling light, 
The deer, upon the grassy mead, 
Was feeding full in sight. 

He raised the rifle to his eye, 
And from the cliffs around 
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, 
Gave back its deadly sound. 

Away, into the neighboring wood, 
The startled creature flew, 
And crimson drops at morning lay 
Amid the glimmering dew. 

Next evening shone the waxing moon 
As brightly as before, 
The deer upon the grassy mead 
Was seen again no more. 

But ere that crescent moon was old, 
By night the red men came, 
And burnt the cottage to the ground, 
And slew the youth and dame. 

Now woods have overgrown the mead, 
And hid the cliffs from sight, 
There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, 
And prowls the fox at night. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 

2B 



370 THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSI Z 

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ 

It was fifty years ago, 

In the pleasant month of May, 

In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, 
A child in its cradle lay. 

And Nature, the old nurse, took 

The child upon her knee, 
Saying, "Here is a story book 

Thy Father has written for thee. 

"Come, wander with me," she said, 

"Into regions yet untrod: 
And read what is still unread 

In the manuscripts of God." 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 

Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, 

Or his heart began to fail, 
She would sing a wonderful song, 

Or tell a marvelous tale. 

So she keeps him still a child, 

And will not let him go, 
Though at times his heart beats wild 

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud; 

Though at times he hears in his dreams 
The Ranz des Vaches of old, 

And the rush of mountain streams 
From glaciers clear and cold; 



TO A WATERFOWL 371 

And the mother at home says, "Hark! 

For his voice I listen and yearn: 
It is growing late and dark, 

And my boy does not return." 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



TO A WATERFOWL 

Whither 'midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocky billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side ? 

There is a power whose care 
Teachest thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 



37-' THE YEARS AT THE SPRING 

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, 
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING 

The year's at the spring; 
And day's at the morn; 
Morning's at seven; 
The hillside's dew-pearled; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn; 
God's in His heaven — 
All's right with the world ! 

— Robert Browning. 



IT IS NOT GROWING LIKE A TREE 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: 



DAYBREAK 373 

A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was a plant and flower of Light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

— Ben Jonson. 



DAYBREAK 

A wind came up out of the sea, 

And said, "O mists, make room for me." 

It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone." 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, "Awake! it is the day." 

It said unto the forest, "Shout! 
Hang all your leafy banners out ! " 

It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, 
And said, "O bird, awake and sing." 

And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, 
Your clarion blow; the day is near." 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 

"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." 

It shouted through the belfry tower, 
"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, 
And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



374 BANNOCKBURX 



BANNOCKBURN 



Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, 
Welcome to your gory bed 
Or to victorie ! 



Now's the day, and now's the hour; 
See the front o' battle lower; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa' ? 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! 

— Robert Burns. 



THANATOPSIS 375 

Grade 7 B 
THANATOPSIS 

All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom — Take the wings 
Of morning — pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there : 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest, — and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh, 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan, which moves 

To that mysterious realm where each shall take 



376 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade ! 
Charge for the guns ! " he said : 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 



" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismayed? 
Not tho' the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die: 
Into the valley of Death, 

Rode the six hundred. 



Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 377 

Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turn'd in air, 
Sab'ring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right through the line they broke; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke 
Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 

Volleyed and thundered; 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
O the wild charge they made ! 



378 HOHEN LINDEN 



All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



HOHENLINDEN 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of night 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
Then rushed the steed to battle driven; 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow; 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 



FAREWELL! A LONG FAREWELL 379 

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part, where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



GOOD NAME IN MAN AND WOMAN 

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 

Is the immediate jewel of their souls; 

Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; 

But he that filches from me my good name 

Robs me of that which not enriches him, 

And makes me poor indeed. 

— William Shakespeare (Othello). 



FAREWELL! A LONG FAREWELL TO ALL MY 
GREATNESS ! 

Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 



380 THE BUGLE SONG 

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory, 
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me, and now has left me 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: 
I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on prince's favors! 
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have: 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to rise again. 

— William Shakespeare {Henry VIII). 



THE BUGLE SONG 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story: 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, 
And thinner, clearer; farther going! 



THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO 381 

O sweet and far from cliff and scaur, 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 

They faint on hill or field or river: 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul 
And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 

No: 
Did ye not hear it ? — ' Twas but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 



382 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO 

But hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

5|C 5fC *|C 5JC 3JS *fl 3fC 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess 
If evermore should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldiers ere the morning star; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with pale lips — " The foe ! they come ! they 



come 



i»j 



Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 

The morn, the marshaling in arms, — the day 

Battle's magnificently-stern array ! - 

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 

The earth is covered thick with other clay, 



THE SHIP OF STATE 383 

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 

— George Gordon, Lord Byron. 



Grade 8 A 
THE SHIP OF STATE 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! 

Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! 

Humanity, with all its fears, 

With all the hopes of future years, 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 

'Tis of the wave and not the rock; 

'Tis but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, — 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,. 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



384 MERCY 

MERCY 

The quality of mercy is not strained, — 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed, — 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown; 
His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
But mercy is above this sceptered sway, — 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God Himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. 

William Shakespeare (Merchant of Venice) . 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 

This is the ship of pearl, which poets feign 

Sails the unshadowed main, — 

The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair. 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 385 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell, 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil; 

Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft steps its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my Soul, 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past! 
Let each new temple nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length are free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea. 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



2C 



386 MY HEART LEAPS UP 

MY HEART LEAPS UP 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky: 
So was it when my life began; 
So is it now I am a man; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 
The child is father of the man: 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

— William Wordsworth. 



THE BROOK 

I come from haunts of coot and hern: 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley; 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or lisp between the ridges, 

By twenty thorps, a little- town, 
And half a hundred bridges. 

I chatter over stony ways 
In little sharps and trebles; 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles; 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow- weed and mallow; 



THE BROOK 387 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river; 
For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on forever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 

With here a blossom sailing, 
And here and there a lusty trout, 

And here and there a grayling, 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me as I travel, 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along, and flow 

To join the brimming river; 
For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on forever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 

Among my skimming swallows; 
I make the netted sunbeams dance 

Against my sandy shallows. 

• 
I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses; 
I linger by my shingly bars, 

I loiter round my cresses; 



388 SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL 

And out again I curve and flow 

To join the brimming river; 
For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on forever. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL 

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! 
Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free. 
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken, 

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave, 
How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but spoken, 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. 
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free. 

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, 

His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword ! 

Who shall return to tell Egypt the story, 

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? 
For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory, 

And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. 
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free. 

— Thomas Moore. 



I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 



CONCORD HYMN 389 

A host of golden daffodils, 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 



Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a day: 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 

A Poet could not but be gay 

In such a jocund company : 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

— William Wordsworth. 



CONCORD HYMN 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 



390 OPPORTUNITY 

The foe long since in silence slept; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone; 
That memory may their deed redeem, 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit who made those freemen dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and thee. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



OPPORTUNITY 

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: 

There spread a cloud of dust along a plain 

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 

A furious battle; and men yelled, and 

Swords shocked upon swords and shields. 

A prince's banner wavered, then staggered 

Backward, hemmed by foes. 

A craven hung along the battle's edge, 

And thought : " Had I a sword of keener steel — 

That blue blade that the king's son bears — but this 

Blunt thing!" He snapt and flung it from his hand, 

And lowering, crept away and left the field. 

Then came the King's son, wounded, 

Sore bestead, and weaponless; and saw 

The broken swordhilt buried in the dry 

And trodden sand; and ran and 



WARREN'S ADDRESS 391 

Snatched it, and with battle shout 
Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down 
And saved a great cause on that heroic day. 

— Edward Rowland Sill. 



WARREN'S ADDRESS 

Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves ! 
Will ye give it up to slaves? 
Will ye look for greener graves? 

Hope ye mercy still ? 
What's the mercy despots feel? 
Hear it in that battle-peal ! 
Read it on yon bristling steel! 

Ask it, — ye who will. 

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? 
Will ye to your homes retire ? 
Look behind you ! they're a-fire ! 

And, before you, see 
Who have done it ! — From the vale 
On they come ! — And will ye quail ? — 
Leaden rain and iron hail 

Let their welcome be ! 

In the God of battles trust ! 

Die we may, — and die we must ; — 

But, Oh, where can dust to dust 

Be consigned so well, 
As where Heaven its dews shall shed 
On the martyred patriot's bed, 
And the rocks shall raise their head, 

Of his deeds to tell ! 

— John Pierpont. 



392 FIRST BUNKER HILL MONUMENT ORATION 

FIRST BUNKER HILL MONUMENT ORATION 

Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate national 
hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is higher, 
purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national 
independence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon 
it forever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of that unmeas- 
urable benefit which has been conferred on our own land, and of 
the happy influences which have been produced, by the same 
events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as Ameri- 
cans, to mark a spot which must ever be dear to us and our pos- 
terity. We wish that whoever, in all coming time, shall turn his 
eye hither, may behold that the place is not undistinguished where 
the first great battle of the Revolution was fought. We wish that 
this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance of 
that event to every class and every age. We wish that infancy may 
learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips, and that 
weary and withered age may behold it and be solaced by the rec- 
ollections which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up 
here, and be proud in the midst of its toil. We wish that in those 
days of disaster, which as they come upon all nations, must be 
expected to come upon us, also, desponding patriotism may turn 
its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our 
national power are still strong. We wish that this column, rising 
towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples 
dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce in all minds 
a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, 
that the last object to the sight of him who leaves his native shore, 
and the first to gladden him who revisits it, may be something 
which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. 
Let it rise ! let it rise, till it meets the sun in his coming; let the 
earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and 
play on its summit. 

— Daniel Webster (Selected). 



FIRST BUNKER HILL ORATION 393 

FIRST BUNKER HILL ORATION 

Let us thank God that we live in an age when something has 
influence besides the bayonet, and when the sternest authority 
does not venture to encounter the scorching power of public re- 
proach. Any attempt of the kind should be met by one universal 
burst of indignation; the air of the civilized world ought to be 
made too warm to be comfortably breathed by any one who would 
hazard it. 

If the true spark of religious and civil liberty be kindled, it will 
burn. Human agency cannot extinguish it. Like the earth's 
central fire, it may be smothered for a time ; the ocean may over- 
whelm it; mountains may press it down; but its inherent and 
unconquerable force will heave both the ocean and the land, 
and at some time or other, in some place or other, the volcano will 
break out and flame up to heaven. 

— Daniel Webster (Selected). 



FIRST BUNKER HILL ORATION 

We can win no laurels in a war for independence. Earlier and 
worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor are there places for 
us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other founders of States. 
Our fathers have filled them. But there remains to us a great 
duty of defence and preservation ; and there is opened to us, also, 
a noble pursuit, to which the spirit of the times strongly invites 
us. Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be the 
age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us advance the arts 
of peace and the works of peace. Let us develop the resources 
of our land, call forth its powers, build up its institutions, promote 
all its great interests, and see whether we also, in our day and 
generation, may not perform something worthy to be remembered. 

Let our object be our country, our whole country, and nothing 



394 



POLONIUS' ADVICE TO HIS SON 



but our country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country 
itself become a vast and splendid monument not of oppression 
and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of Liberty, upon which 
the world may gaze with admiration forever ! 

— Daniel Webster (Selected). 



POLONIUS' ADVICE TO HIS SON 

Give thy thoughts no tongue, 

Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; 

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 

Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 

Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, 

Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. 

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be : 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all, — to thine own self be true ; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

— William Shakespeare (Hamlet). 



THE SKYLARK 395 

Grade 8 B 

LIBERTY AND UNION 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the 
sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken, dis- 
honored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on states dissevered, 
discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, 
it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering 
glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now 
known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming in all their original luster, not a 
stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured; bearing for 
its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this 
worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first 
and Union afterwards; but everywhere, spread all over in char- 
acters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float 
over the sea and over the land, and in every wind of the whole 
heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, 
— Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 

— Daniel Webster (Reply to Hayne). 



THE SKYLARK 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! 
Bird thou never wert, 
That from Heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 
From the earth thou springest 



396 THE SKYLARK 

Like a cloud of fire; 
The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 
Of the sunken sun, 
O'er which clouds are bright'ning, 
Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 

The pale purple even 
Melts around thy flight, 
Like a star of heaven 
In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, — but yet I hear thy shrill delight. 

Teach us, Sprite or Bird, 
What sweet thoughts are thine; 
I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

******* 

Waking or asleep 
Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream — 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 

We look before and after, 
And pine for what is not: 
Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 397 

Yet if we could scorn 
Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Better than all measures 
Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 
That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow 
The world should listen then — as I am listening now. 
— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 



I98 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense -breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke 1 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour : — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 



A FOREST HYMN 399 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

— Thomas Gray. 



A FOREST HYMN 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 

And spread the roof above him, — ere he framed 

The lofty vault, to gather and roil back 

The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, 

Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down 



400 A FOREST HYMN 

And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. 

****** 

Ah, why- 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
Offer one hymn, — thrice happy, if it find 
Acceptance in His ear. 
Father, Thy hand 

Hath reared these venerable columns; Thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun, 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, 
And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 

Of the great miracle that still goes on, 

In silence, round me — the perpetual work 

Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 

Forever. Written on Thy works I read 

The lesson of Thy own eternity. 

Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 

How on the faltering footsteps of decay 

Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 

In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 



COMMEMORATION ODE 40 1 

Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Molder beneath them. Oh ! there is not lost 
One of earth's charms ! 

****** 
O God ! when Thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
With all the waters of the firmament, 
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages; when, at Thy call, 
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? 
Oh ! from these sterner aspects of Thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad, unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of Thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



COMMEMORATION ODE 

(part VI) 

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 
Whom late the Nation he had led, 
With ashes on her head, 
Wept with the passion of an angry grief: 
Forgive me, if from present things I turn 



402 COMMEMORATION ODE 

To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, 
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. 

Nature, they say, doth dote, 

And cannot make a man 

Save on some worn-out plan, 

Repeating us by rote : 
For him her Old World molds aside she threw, 
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 

Of the unexhausted West, 
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 

How beautiful to see. 
Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; 
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 

Not lured by any cheat of birth, 

But by his clear-grained human worth, 
And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 

They knew that outward grace is dust; 

They could not choose but trust 
In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 

And supple-tempered will 
That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 

His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, 

Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 

A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; 

Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, 
Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, 
Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 
****** 

I praise him not — it were too late ; 
And some innative weakness there must be 
In him who condescends to victory 

Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 



ON HIS BLINDNESS 403 

Safe in himself as in a fate. 

So always firmly he: 

He knew to bide his time, 

And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime, 

Till the wise years decide. 
Great captains, with their guns and drums, 
Disturb our judgment for the hour, 

But at last silence comes; 
These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, 
Our children shall behold his fame, 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 
New birth of our new soil, the first American. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



ON HIS BLINDNESS 

When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide, 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He returning chide ; 
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" 
I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need 
Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best 
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state 

Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 

— John Milton. 



404 GRADATIM 

GRADATIM 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to the summit round by round. 

I count this thing to be grandly true 

That a noble deed is a step toward God — 
Lifting the soul from the common sod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by things that are under our feet; 

By what we have mastered of good and gain; 

By the pride deposed and the passion slain, 
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
When the morning calls us to life and light; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night, 

Our lives are trailing the solemn dust. 

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 

And we think that we mount the air on wings, 
Beyond the recall of sensual things, 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men. 
We may borrow the wings to find the way — 
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, 

But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; 
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, 

And the sleeper wakes on his pillar of stone. 



SANDALPHON 405 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to the summit round by round. 

— J. G. Holland. 



SANDALPHON 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the legends the Rabbins have told, 

Of the limitless realms of the air, — 
Have you read it? the marvelous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light, 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night? 

But serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 

To sounds that ascend from below ; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the fervor and passion of prayer; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses, 



406 THIS WAS THE NOBLEST ROMAN OF THEM ALL 

And weary with dragging the crosses 
Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of the City Immortal, 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THIS WAS THE NOBLEST ROMAN OF THEM ALL 

This was the noblest Roman of them all: 

All the conspirators, save only he, 

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; 

He only, in a general, honest thought, 

And common good to all, made one of them. 

His life was gentle, and the elements 

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up 

And say to all the world, "This was a man ! " 

— William Shakespeare {Julius Caesar). 



SPEECH AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NATIONAL 
CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon 
this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to 
the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are en- 
gaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any 
nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are 
met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate 



"WHAT IS SO RARE AS A DAY IN JUNE?" 407 

a portion of it, as a final resting-place for those who here gave 
their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and 
proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense, we cannot 
dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow this ground. 
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have con- 
secrated it far above our power to add or to detract. The world 
will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather 
to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who 
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us 
to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that 
from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause 
for which they gave their last full measure of devotion ; — that 
we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, 
— that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free- 
dom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the 
people, shall not perish from the earth. 

— Abraham Lincoln. 



WHAT IS SO RARE AS A DAY IN JUNE?' 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays: 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 



40S "WHAT IS SO IL1RE AS A DAY IN JUNE?" 

The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace. 
Now is the high-tide of the year, 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; — 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 

We are happy now because God wills it; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 

'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 

That skies are clear and grass is growing; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 

That dandelions are blossoming near, 
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 

That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by; 

And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack; 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 

Warmed with the new wine of the year, 
Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 
Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving; 
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 
'Tis the natural way of living: 



WHAT IS SO RARE AS A DAY IN JUNE?" 409 

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 
In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 

And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; 

The soul partakes the season's youth, 
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 

Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



MEMORIZING FOR ALL GRADES 

AMERICA 

My country ! 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing: 
Land where my Fathers died ! 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride ! 
From every mountain side 

Let Freedom ring. 

My native country, thee — 
Land of the noble free, — 

Thy name I love; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet Freedom's song; 
Let mortal tongues awake; 
Let all that breathe partake; 
Let rocks their silence break, — 

The sound prolong. 

Our Fathers' God 1 to Thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To Thee we sing, — 
Long may our land be bright 
410 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 411 

With Freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by Thy might, 
Great God, our King! 

— Samuel Francis Smith. 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 

Oh ! say can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming ? 

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; 

CHORUS 

Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 

What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam; 
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 

CHORUS 

Tis the star-spangled banner ! Oh ! long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, 
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 

A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? 

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution ; 



412 THE AMERICAN FLAG 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave, 

CHORUS 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave I 

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved home and wild war's desolation; 

Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land 
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!" 

CHORUS 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

— Francis Scott Key. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there ! 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 

With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 

She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 

The symbol of her chosen land. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 413 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 

The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone, 

And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And, as his springing steps advance, 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabers rise and fall 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 
When death, careering on the gale, 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly, 

In triumph, o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 



414 HAIL, COLUMBIA! 

Forever float the standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us. 

— Joseph Rodman Drake. 



HAIL, COLUMBIA! 

Hail, Columbia ! happy land, 
Hail, ye heroes, heav'n born band; 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 

Let independence be our boast, 

Ever mindful what it cost ! 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altar reach the skies. 

Firm, united let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty! 
As a band of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots, rise once more ! 
Defend your rights, defend your shore ! 

Let no rude foe with impious hand, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. 
While off'ring peace, sincere and just, 
In heav'n we place a manly trust. 
That truth and justice shall prevail, 
And ev'ry scheme of bondage fail. 



BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 415 

Sound, sound the trump of fame ! 
Let Washington's great name 

Ring through the world with loud applause, 
Let ev'ry clime to Freedom dear, 
Listen with a joyful ear. 

With equal skill and God-like pow'r, 

He governed in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war; or guides with ease 
The happier times of honest peace. 

Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands 

The rock on which the storm will beat; 
But armed in virtue firm and true, 
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. 

When hope was sinking in dismay, 

And gloom obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind from changes free, 
Resolved on death or liberty. 

— Joseph Hopkinson. 



BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord ; 

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are 

stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of His terrible swift sword. 
His truth is marching on. 

CHORUS 

Glory ! Glory ! Hallelujah ! 
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! 
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! 
His truth is marching on. 



416 HOME, SWEET HOME 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of an hundred circling camps ; 
They have builded Him an altar 'mid the evening dews and damps, 
I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps ; 
His day is marching on. 

CHORUS 

Glory ! Glory ! etc. 
His day is marching on. 

I have read His fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: 
" As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal." 
Let the hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel ; 
Since God is marching on. 

CHORUS 

He has sounded forth a trumpet that shall never call retreat, 
He is searching out the hearts of men before His judgment seat ; 
Oh, be swift my soul to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet; 
Our God is marching on. 

CHORUS 

In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea, 
With a beauty in His bosom that transfigures you and me, 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, 
While God is marching on. 

CHORUS 

— Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. 



HOME, SWEET HOME 

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; 
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, 



HOME, SWEET HOME 417 

Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. 
Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
There's no place like home ! 
There's no place like home ! 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; 

Oh, give me my lowly, thatched cottage again ! 

The birds singing gayly, that came at my call, — 

Give me them, — and the peace of mind, dearer than all ! 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile, 
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile ! 
Let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam, 
But give me, oh, give me the pleasures of home ! 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care; 
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there; 
No more from that cottage again will I roam; 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 

There's no place like home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

— John Howard Payxe. 



2E 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF 
QUOTATIONS 

Practice makes perfect. 

You must run to win the race. 

Do a kindness to some one every day. 

You cannot eat your cake and keep it too. 

Waste not, want not. 

The more haste the less speed. 

A penny saved is a penny earned. 

If at first you don't succeed, try again. 

Think before you speak, look before you leap. 

A place for everything, and everything in its place. 

Lost time is never found. 

By little drops the sea is filled. 

Never put off until to-morrow what you can do to-day. 

Never trouble another for what you can do yourself. 

Never spend your money before you have earned it. 

Never buy what you don't want because it is cheap. 

Take things always by the smooth handle. 

When angry, count ten before you speak, if very angry, count 
a hundred. — Thomas Jefferson. 

A stitch in time saves nine. 

Cut your coat according to your cloth. 

To look up and not down; 
To look forward and not back; 
To look out and not in; 
And to lend a hand. 

— Edward Everett Hale. 
418 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 419 

What we must do let us love to do. 

Never lose an opportunity to see anything beautiful. 
Beauty is God's handwriting. — Charles Kingsley. 

Love the beautiful, 

Seek out the true, 
Wish for the good, 

And the best do ! 

— Moses Mendelssohn. 

Order is heaven's first law. 

Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord; 
But they that deal truly are His delight. 

The hand of the diligent shall bear rule; 
But the slothful shall be under tribute. 

A wise son heareth his father's instructions, 
But a scorner heareth not rebuke. 

A soft answer turneth away wrath; 
But grievous words stir up anger. 

— Bible. 

Ingratitude, I hope, will never constitute a part of my character, 
nor find a place in my bosom. 

I never wish to promise more than I have a moral certainty 
of performing. 

Let your heart feel for the afflictions and distress of every one. 

Be courteous to all, but intimate with few; and let those be well 
tried before you give them your confidence. 

Be not curious to know the affairs of others, neither approach 
to those that speak in private. 

Speak not evil of the absent, for it is unjust. 

Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the disparagement of 
any. — George Washington. 



420 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AXD BRIEF QUOTATIOXS 

Bad habits gather by unseen degrees, 

As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas. 

— John Dryden. 

He is not worthy of the honeycomb that shuns the hive because 
the bees have stings. — William Shakespeare. 

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine. 
They are never alone who are accompanied with noble, true 
thoughts. — Sir Philip Sidney. 

It is well to think well; it is divine to act well. 

— Horace Mann. 

Every right action and true thought sets the seal of its beauty 
on person and face. — John Ruskin. 

He has hard work that has nothing to do. 

By industry and patience the mouse ate into the cable. 

Troubles spring from idleness, and grievous toils from needless 
ease. 

Who shoots at the mid-day sun, though he be sure he shall 
never hit the mark, yet as sure he is he shall shoot higher than he 
who aims but at a bush. — Sir Philip Sidney. 

The man who has not anything to boast of but his illustrious 
ancestors is like a potato, — the only good belonging to him is 
underground. — Slr Thomas Oyerbury. 

Anger is like the waves of a troubled sea; when it is corrected 
with a soft reply, as with a little strand, it retires, and leaves noth- 
ing behind but froth and shells — no permanent mischief. 

— Jeremy Taylor. 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 42 1 

Procure not friends in haste, and when thou hast a friend part 
not with him in haste. — Solon. 

Poverty is the want of much; but avarice, of everything. 

— Publius Syrus. 

A beneficent person is like a fountain watering the earth and 
spreading fertility; it is therefore more delightful and more 
honorable to give than to receive. 

— Epicurus. 

The origin of all mankind was the same ; it is only a clear and 
good conscience that makes a man noble, for that is derived from 
heaven itself. — Seneca. 

Books are a guide in youth and an entertainment for age. 
They support us under solitude and keep us from becoming a 
burden to ourselves. They help us to forget the crossness of 
men and things, compose our cares and our passions, and lay our 
disappointments asleep. When we are weary of the living, we 
may repair to the dead, who have nothing of peevishness, pride, 
or design in their conversation. 

— Jeremy Collier. 

If the crowns of all the kingdoms of Europe were laid down at 
my feet in exchange for my books and my love of reading, I would 
spurn them all. — Fenelon. 

Employ your time in improving yourselves by other men's 
documents ; so shall you come easily by what others have labored 
hard for. Prefer knowledge to wealth ; for the one is transitory, 
the other perpetual. — Socrates. 

A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the 
wrong, which is but saying in other words, that he is wiser to-day 
than he was yesterday. — Alexander Pope. 



422 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 

There is but one way I know of conversing safely with all men ; 
that is, not by concealing what we say or do, but by saying or 
doing nothing that deserves to be concealed. 

— Alexander Pope. 

Bad company is like a nail driven into a post, which after the 
first or second blow may be drawn out w T ith little difficulty; but 
being once driven up to the head, the pincers cannot take hold to 
draw it out, but which can only be done by the destruction of the 
wood. — St. Augustine. 

No man can be provident of his time who is not prudent in the 
choice of his company. — Jeremy Taylor. 

There are moments in life in which circumstances, like winged 
shuttles, move backward and forward before us, and ceaselessly 
finish the web, which we ourselves more or less have spun and 
put in the loom. — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 

He that loses his conscience has nothing left that is worth keep- 
ing. Therefore be sure you look to that. And in the next place, 
look to your health ; and if you have it, praise God, and value it 
next to a good conscience: for health is the second blessing that 
we mortals are capable of; a blessing that money cannot buy; 
therefore value it and be thankful for it. 

— Izaak Walton. 

To secure a contented spirit, measure your desires by your 
fortunes, and not your fortunes by your desires. 

— Jeremy Taylor. 

Contentment is a pearl of great price, and whoever procures it 
at the expense of ten thousand desires, makes a wise and happy 
purchase. — John Balguy. 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 423 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; 

The eternal years of God are hers; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 

And dies among his worshippers. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 

There is not so contemptible a plant or animal that does not 
confound the most enlarged understanding. 

— John Locke. 

There can be no greater labor than to be always dissembling; 
there being so many ways by which a smothered truth is apt to 
blaze and break out. 

— Robert South. 

Men love to hear of their power, but have an extreme disrelish 
to be told their duty. 

— Edmund Burke. 

Most true it is, as a wise man teaches us, that "doubt of any 
sort cannot be removed except by action." On which ground, 
too, let him who gropes painfully in darkness or uncertain light, 
and prays vehemently that the dawn may ripen into day, lay this 
other precept well to heart which to me was of invaluable service : 
"Do the duty which lies nearest thee, which thou knowest to be a 
duty ! " The second duty will already have become clearer. 

— Thomas Carlyle. 

The man who will live above his present circumstances is in 
great danger of living, in a little time, much beneath them. 

— Joseph Addison. 

Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship. 

— Benjamin Franklin. 



424 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 

Education begins the gentleman; but reading, good company, 
and reflection, must finish him. — John Locke. 

The only true conquests — those which awaken no regret — 
are those obtained over ignorance. The most honorable, as the 
most useful, pursuit of nations is that which contributes to the 
extension of human intellect. — Napoleon I. 

If we work upon marble, it will perish; if we work upon brass, 
time will efface it ; if we rear temples, they will crumble into dust ; 
but if we work upon immortal minds, if we imbue them with 
principles, with the just fear of God and love of our fellowmen, 
we engrave on those tablets something which will brighten to all 
eternity. — Daniel Webster. 

Is there one whom difficulty disheartens, who bends to the 
storm? He will do little. Is there one who will conquer? That 
kind of man never fails. — John Hunter. 

It is idleness that creates impossibilities; and where men care 
not to do a thing, they shelter themselves under a persuasion that 
it cannot be done. The shortest and the surest way to prove a 
work possible, is strenuously to set about it, and no wonder if that 
proves it possible that, for the most part, makes it so. 

— Robert South. 

We ought to be guarded against every appearance of envy, as a 
passion that always implies inferiority, wherever it resides. 

— Pliny. 

Murmur at nothing. If your ills are reparable, it is ungrateful; 
if remediless, it is vain. 

— Charles Caleb Colton. 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 425 

People seldom improve when they have no model but them- 
selves to copy after. — Oliver Goldsmith. 

Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other 
and scarcely in that; for it is true we may give advice but we 
cannot give conduct. Remember this; they that will not be 
counseled cannot be helped. If you do not hear reason, she will 
rap your knuckles. 

— Benjamin Franklin. 

The person who has a firm trust in a Supreme Being is power- 
ful in His power, wise by His wisdom, happy by His happiness. 

— Joseph Addison. 

Fear is more painful to cowardice than death to true courage. 

— Sir Philip Sidney. 

He that provides for this life, but takes no care for eternity, is 
wise for a moment, but a fool forever ; and acts as untowardly and 
crossly to the reason of things as can be imagined. 

— John Tillotson. 

He that cannot forgive others breaks the bridge over which he 
must pass himself: for every man has need to be forgiven. 

— Lord Herbert. 

We are sure to get the better of fortune if we will but grapple 
with her. — Seneca. 

He that does good to another man does also good to himself; 
not only in the consequence, but in the very act of doing it; for 
the consciousness of well doing is an ample reward. 

— Seneca. 



426 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 

To act with common sense, according to the moment, is the best 
wisdom I know; and the best philosophy, to do one's duties, take 
the world as it comes, submit respectfully to one's lot, bless the 
goodness that has given us so much happiness with it, whatever 
it is, and despise affectation. — Horace Walpole. 

The greatest man is he who chooses right with the most in- 
vincible resolution ; who resists the sorest temptation from within 
and without; who bears the heaviest burdens cheerfully; who is 
calmest in storms and most fearless under menaces and frowns ; 
whose reliance on truth, on virtue, and on God is most unfaltering. 

— Seneca. 

A sound mind in a sound body is a short but full description of 
a happy state in this world : He that has these two has little more 
to wish for, and he that wants either of them will be but little the 
better for anything else. — John Locke. 

True politeness is perfect ease and freedom. It simply consists 
in treating others just as you love to be treated yourself. 

— Lord Chesterfield. 

The manner of saying or of doing anything goes a great way in 
the value of the thing itself. It was well said of him that called a 
good office that was done harshly and with an ill will, a stony piece 
of bread; it is necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but 
it almost chokes a man in the going down. 

— Seneca. 

Opportunity has hair in front, behind she is bald; if you seize 
her by the forelock you may hold her, but if suffered to escape, 
not Jupiter himself can catch her again. 

— From the Latin. 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 427 

He who reigns within himself, and rules passions, desires, and 
fears, is more than a king. — John Milton. 

There never did and never will exist anything permanently 
noble and excellent in a character which was a stranger to the 
exercise of resolute self-denial. — Sir Walter Scott. 

He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the touch, 

To win or lose it all. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; 
In feeling, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 

— Philip Bailey. 

Teach me to feel another's woe 

To hide the fault I see; 
The mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

— Alexander Pope. 

In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold, 

Alike fantastic if too new or old: 
Be not the first by whom the new are tried, 

Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. 

— Alexander Pope. 

Of all the causes which conspire to blind 

Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, 

What the weak head with strongest bias rules, 
Is pride, the never failing vice of fools. 

— Alexander Pope. 



428 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 

A BOY'S PRAYER 

God who created me 
Nimble and light -of limb, 

In three elements free, 
To run, to ride, to swim: 

Not when the sense is dim, 
But now from the heart of joy, 

I would remember Him: 
Take the thanks of a boy. 

— Henry Beechixg. 

These bright days of youth are the seed-time. Every thought 
of the intellect, every motion of the heart, every word of the tongue, 
every principle adopted, every act performed, is a seed whose 
good or evil fruit will be the bliss or bane of after life. 

— Henry A. Wise. 

In the lexicon of youth which fate reserved for a bright man- 
hood, there is no such word as fail. 

— Edward Bulwer, Baron Lytton. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage; 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 

— Richard Lovelace. 

All-endearing cleanliness, 
Virtue next to godliness, 
Easiest, cheapest, needful'st duty, 



PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 429 

To the body, health and beauty; 
Who that's human would refuse it, 
When a little water does it ? 

— Charles and Mary Lamb. 

Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 
In other men sleeping but never dead, 
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own, 
Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, 
Then will pure light around thy path be shed, 
And thou wilt nevermore be sad or lone. 

— James Russell Lowell. 

A good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit em- 
balmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. 

— John Milton. 

In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and 
pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to 
go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven 
and earth. — John Milton. 

Howe'er it be, it seems to me 

'Tis only noble to be good. 

Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith than Norman blood. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief, 
I would not wail for anything; 
I'd use to-day that cannot last, 
Be glad to-day and sing. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 



430 PROVERBS, MAXIMS, AND BRIEF QUOTATIONS 

To be of no church is dangerous. Religion, of which the re- 
wards are distant, and which is animated only by Faith and Hope, 
will glide by degrees out of the mind, unless it be invigorated and 
reimpressed by external ordinances, by stated calls to worship, 
and the salutary influence of example. 

— Samuel Johnson. 

Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are just, what- 
soever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever 
things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be 
any praise, think on these things. 

— Bible. 



SUGGESTED PROGRAMS FOR CLOSING 
EXERCISES 

BOYS' SCHOOL I 



Chorus 


God of the Nations (Verdi) 


School. 


Rec. 


First Psalm 


John Milton. 


Rec. 


How They brought the Good News to Aix 


Robert Browning. 


Solo 


The Little Dustman 


J oh. Brahms. 


Rec. 


The Gettysburg Address 


A. Lincoln. 


Chorus 


Dixie 


School. 


Rec. 


A Boy's Song 


James Hogg. 


Dialogue 


Franklin and the Gout 


B. Franklin. 


Chorus 


Soldiers' Chorus (Faust) 


Gounod. 


Dumb-bell Drill 




Rec. 


The Old Navy 


Marryatt. 


Rec. 


The Fall of the Curtain 

BOYS' SCHOOL II 


W. M. Thackeray. 


Chorus 


March from Tannhauser 


Wagner. 


Rec. 


Recessional 


Rudyard Kipling. 


Rec. 


Conciliation with America 


Edmund Burke. 


Chorus 


Hark! Hark! the Lark! 


Schubert. 


Rec. 


The Ballad of the Fleet 


A. Tennyson. 


Solo 


Little Tin Soldier 


Molloy. 


Rec. 


What Constitutes a State 


Sir W. Jones. 


Indian Club Drill 




Dialogue 


Selection from " Sohrab and Rustum" 


Matthew Arnold. 


Rec. 


The Elixir 


George Herbert. 


Chorus 


Thanksgiving 

GIRLS' SCHOOL I 


Ignace Pleyel. 


Chorus 


Father of Love 


J. B. Dykes. 


Rec. 


Adam's and Eve's Morning Hymn 


J. Milton. 


Rec. 


Helen of Kirconnell 


Scotch Ballad. 


Chorus 


Sweet Roses that Wither 


Scotch Melody. 


Rec. 


The Mother Tongue 


Lord Houghton. 



43 2 



SUGGESTED PROGRAMS FOR CLOSING EXERCISES 



Rec. The Walrus and the Carpenter 

Dance Highland Schottische 

Rec. Two Dolls 

Chorus The Fairy Revel 

Rec. The King of Denmark's Ride 

Rec. We Thank Thee 



Lewis Carroll. 

Unknown. 

A. Sullivan. 

Mrs. Norton. 

R. W. Emerson. 



GIRLS' SCHOOL II 



Chorus 


Spring (Creation) 


Haydn. 


Rec. 


Sandalphon 


H. W. Longfellow. 


Rec. 


High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire 


Jean Ingelow. 


Solo 


Norse Lullaby 


De Koven. 


Rec. 


A Little Peach 


Eugene Field. 


Rec. 


The Choir Invisible 


George Eliot. 


Chorus 


Light and Gay (Martha) 


Flotow. 


Rec. 


Three Bugs 


Alice Cary. 


Dance 


Irish Lilt 




Rec. 


Waiting 


John Burroughs. 


Rec. 


Dear Land of All my Love 


Sidney Lanier, 


Chorus 


America 

MIXED SCHOOL I 




Chorus 


Glory to God in Nature 


BeetJwven. 


Rec. 


Rebecca's Hymn 


Sir Walter Scott. 


Rec. 


At Morning 


R. L. Stevenson. 


Rec. 


Charge of the Light Brigade 


A. Tennyson. 


Chorus 


Chorus of Pilgrims 


Wagner. 


Rec. 


Johnny's History Lesson 


Nixon Waterman. 


Rec. 


An Incident of the French Camp 


Robert Browning. 


Indian Club Drill 




Rec. 


The American Revolution 


William Pitt. 


Rec. 


When Banners are Waving 


Unknown. 


Dance 


Ace of Diamonds 




Chorus 


Lead, Kindly Light 


J. H. Newman. 


Rec. 


The Law of the Jungle 

MIXED SCHOOL II 


Rudyard Kipling. 


Chorus 


Festal Day Song 


Donizetti. 


Rec. 


The Spacious Firmament 


J. Addison. 



SUGGESTED PROGRAMS FOR CLOSING EXERCISES 



433 



Rec. Lincoln, the Man of the People 

Solo (Piano or Violin) 

Rec. Kindness to Animals 

Rec. Work 

Chorus Summer 

Rec. The Lord of Butrago 

Dance American Polka 

Dialogue Apollyon and Christian 

Rec. Stand by the Flag 

Chorus Star-spangled Banner 



E. Markham. 

Ashby-Sterry. 

Thomas Carlyle. 

Haydn. 

Spanish Ballad. 

John Bunyan. 
John Nichols Wilder. 



2 F 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



Addison, Joseph. 

Argument, 163. 

The Spacious Firmament, 359. 

When All Thy Mercies, 138. 
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. 

Marjorie's Almanac, 309. 
Alexander, Mrs. Cecil Francis. 

All Things Bright and Beauti- 
ful, 291. 
Allingham, William. 

Robin Redbreast, 277. 

Wishing, 303. 
Arnold, Matthew. 

Sohrab and Rustum (Selections), 
251. 
Ashby-Sterry, Joseph. 

Kindness to Animals, 127. 

Bangs, John Kendrick. 

The Little Elf-man, 123. 
Banks, G. Linnseus. 

I Live for Those who Love Me, 
300. 
Beaumont, Francis. 

Man is His Own Star, 157. 
Beecher, Henry Ward. 

Rain in Summer, 53. 

The American Flag, 214. 

The Cynic, 153. 
Bjornson, Bjornstjerne. 

The Tree, 302. 
Blake, William. 

The Tiger, 70. 
Brotherton, Alice Williams. 

The First Thanksgiving Day, 183. 
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett. 

A Child's Thought of God, 141. 



Browning, Robert. 

All Service ranks the Same with 
God, 162. 

Day, 172. 

How they brought the Good 
News from Ghent to Aix, 19. 

Incident of the French Camp, 21. 

Prospice, 139. 

The Patriot, 247. 

The Year's at the Spring, 372. 
Bryant, William Cullen. 

A Forest Hymn, 399. 

November, 59. 

Planting of the Apple-tree, 343. 

Robert of Lincoln, 319. 

Song of Marion's Men, 357. 

Thanatopsis, 375. 

The Death of the Flowers, 59. 

The Gladness of Nature, 336. 

The White-footed Deer, 367. 

To a Waterfowl, 371. 

To the Fringed Gentian, 342. 
Bunner, Henry Cuyler. 

One, Two, Three, 108. 
Bunyan, John. 

Apollyon and Christian (Pil- 
grim's Progress), 264. 

The Pilgrim, 167. 

The Shepherd Boy sings in the 
Valley of Humiliation, 176. 
Burke, Edmund. 

Conciliation with America, 203. 
Burns, Robert. 

A Man's a Man for a' That, 

35°- 
Bannockburn, 374. 
I love My Jean, 225. 



435 



43 6 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



Pleasures, 236. 

"The Honest Heart," 165. 

"Then gently Scan," 165. 
Burroughs, John. 

A Snow-storm, 58. 

Waiting, 149. 
Butts, Mary F. 

The Christmas Trees, 190. 
Byron, George Gordon, Lord. 

Apostrophe to the Ocean, 64. 

On the Castle of Chillon, 215. 

Tempest on Lake Leman, 62. 

The Battle of Waterloo, 381. 

The Destruction of Sennacherib, 

349- 

There is a Pleasure in the Path- 
less Woods, 88. 

Washington, 200. 

Ye Stars, which are the Poetry 
of Heaven, 79. 

Campbell, Thomas. 

Field Flowers, 94. 

Hallowed Ground, 209. 

Hohenlinden, 378. 

Poor Dog Tray, 245. 

The Pleasure of Hope, 159. 
Carew, Thomas. 

Spring, 95. 
Carlyle, Thomas. 

Aims in Life, 153. 

Cheerfulness, 164. 

To-day, 348. 

Work, 155. 
Carman, Bliss. 

A Vagabond Song, 66. 
Carroll, Lewis. 

The Walrus and the Carpenter, 
130. 
Cary, Alice. 

Nobility, 354. 

November, 73. 

Three Bugs, 224. 
Cary, Phoebe. 

Obedience, 151. 



Child, Lydia Maria. 

If ever I See, 104. 

Thanksgiving Day, 299. 

Who stole the Bird's Nest? 287. 
Cleveland, Grover. 

Civic Duties, 221. 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. 

He prayeth Best, 321. 
Colesworthy. 

Don't kill the Birds, 293. 
Collins, William. 

How sleep the Brave, 208. 
Colton, Charles Caleb. 

Actions, 178. 
Constant, Baron d'Estournelles de. 

Washington, 202. 
Cook, Eliza. 

The Christmas Holly, 192. 
Cowper, William. 

Knowledge and Wisdom, 148. 

Light shining out of Darkness. 
142. 

Selfishness, 179. 

The Nightingale and the Glow- 
worm, 81. 

Dekker, Thomas. 

Content, 148. 
Denton, Clara J. 

Something to be Thankful For, 
185. 
Dickens, Charles. 

A Christmas Carol, 258. 

The Ivy Green, 92. 

Things that never Die, 161. 
Drake, Joseph Rodman. 

The American Flag, 412. 

The Culprit Fay, 111. 
Drummond, William. 

To the Nightingale, 100. 

Edwards, M. Betham. 

A Child's Prayer, 147. 
Eliot, George. 

The Choir Invisible, 158. 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



437 



Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 
A Fable, 329. 
Concord Hymn, 389. 
Forbearance, 160. 
The Humble Bee, 56. 
The Rhodora, 90. 
The Snow Storm, 80. 
We thank Thee, 186. 

Field, Eugene. 

A Dutch Lullaby, 295. 

The Night Wind, 315. 

The Rock-a-by Lady, 291. 
Fields, James T. 

The Captain's Daughter, 313. 
Finch, Francis Miles. 

The Blue and the Gray, 365. 
Fitzgerald, Edward. 

Old Song, 248. 
Follen, Eliza Lee. 

Stop, stop, Pretty Water, 297. 
Franklin, Benjamin. 

Franklin and the Gout, 256. 

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. 

Rest, 157. 
Goldsmith, Oliver. 

An Elegy on the Death of a Mad 
Dog, 127. 

Ill fares the Land, 167. 
Gould, Hannah. 

Jack Frost, 318. 
Gray, Thomas. 

Elegy written in a Country 
Churchyard, 397. 

Halleck, Fitz-Greene. 

Marco Bozzaris, 40. 
Hay, John. 

The Close of the War, 211. 
Hemans, Felicia Dorothea. 

The Landing of the Pilgrims, 331. 
Henry, Patrick. 

The Necessity of War, 205. 
Herbert, George. 

Be Useful, 169. 



The Elixir, 134. 

Virtue, 176. 
Herford, Oliver. 

Thanksgiving Table, 123. 
Herrick, Robert. 

The Daffodils, 85. 
Hogg, James. 

A Boy's Song, 86. 

The Skylark, 99. 
Holland, J. G. 

Gradatim (The Way to Heaven), 
404. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell. 

Old Ironsides, 362. 

The Chambered Nautilus, 384. 
Hood, Thomas. 

November, 50. 

Queen Mab, 118. 

Ruth, 226. 
Hopkinson, Joseph. 

Hail, Columbia! 414. 
Houghton, Lord. 

Good Night and Good Morn- 
ing, 112. 

Lady Moon, 297. 

Our Mother Tongue, 234. 
Howells, William Dean. 

Thanksgiving, 186. 
Howitt, Mary. 

Old Christmas, 193. 
Hunt, Leigh. 

Abou Ben Adhem, 352. 

To the Grasshopper and the 
Cricket, 103. 

Ingelow, Jean. 

High Tide on the Coast of 

Lincolnshire, 28. 
Seven Times One, 290. 
Seven Times Two, no. 

Jackson, Helen Hunt. 

September, 326. 
Jefferson, Thomas. 

Inaugural Address, 220. 



43* 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



Johnson, Samuel. 

Economy, 157. 
Johnstone, Henry. 

Guessing Song, 51. 
Jones, Sir William. 

What constitutes a State? 222. 
Jonson, Ben. 

It is not Growing Like a Tree, 
372. 

Keats, John. 

Endymion, 230. 

Fairy Song, 164. 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket, 
68. 

Sweet Peas, 93. 

The Sigh of Silence, 68. 
Key, Francis Scott. 

Star-spangled Banner, 411. 
Kingsley, Charles. 

A Farewell, 181. 

Ode to the Northeast Wind, 50. 

The Lost Doll, 116. 
Kipling, Rudyard. 

A Ballad of East and West, 14. 

L'Envoi, 249. 

Maxims of Baloo, 156. 

Recessional, 135. 

The Law of the Jungle, 150. 

Lamb, Charles. 

The Housekeeper, 172. 
Lang, Andrew. 

Scythe Song, 67. 
Lanier, Sidney. 

Dear Land of All My Love, 216. 
Larcom, Lucy. 

The Brown Thrush, 301. 
Lear, Edward. 

Nonsense Alphabet, 279. 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat, 303. 
Leland, Charles Godfrey. 

The Riddler, 114. 
Lincoln, Abraham. 

Speech at the Dedication of the 



National Cemetery at Gettys- 
burg, 406. 
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. 

A Tale, 42. 

Daybreak, 373. 

Excelsior, 337. 

Hiawatha's Childhood, 305. 

Hiawatha's Sailing, 307. 

Prelude to Evangeline, 242. 

Psalm of Life, 341. 

Sandalphon, 405. 

"Ships that pass in the Night," 

243- 
The Arrow and the Song, 339. 
The Builders, 361. 
The Children's Hour, 317. 
The Day is Done, ^2>3- 
The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz, 

37o. 
The Influence of Nature, 87. 
The Rainy Day, 168. 
The Ship of State, 383. 
The Village Blacksmith, 327. 
The Wreck of the Hesperus, 322. 
Lowell, James Russell. 
Aladdin, 340. 
A Parable, 154. 
Commemoration Ode (Part VI), 

401. 
Song, 103. 

Stanzas on Freedom, 217. 
The First Snowfall, 352. 
The Fountain, 325. 
To a Dandelion, 89. 
"What is so Rare as a Day in 

June?" 407. 
Winter, 76. 
Work, 157. 

Macdonald, George. 

The Baby, 276. 
Mann, Horace. 

Thoughts for a Young Man, 170. 
Markham, Edwin. 

A Creed, 140. 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



439 



A Prayer, 106. 

At Little Virgil's Window, 106. 

Infinite Depths, 141. 

Lincoln, the Man of the People, 

195- 

Memory of Good Deeds, 168. 

The Field Fraternity, 91. 

The Man with the Hoe, 232. 
Marryat, Frederick. 

The Old Navy, 126. 
Miller, Joaquin. 

Columbus, 36. 
Milton, John. 

Adam and Eve's Morning Hymn, 
146. 

Now came Still Evening On, 55. 

On His Blindness, 403. 

On May Morning, 54. 

Psalm I, 135. 
Moore, Clement C. 

A Visit from St. Nicholas, 311. 
Moore, Thomas. 

Sound the Loud Timbrel, 388. 

The Harp that once through 
Tara's Halls, 246. 

The Minstrel-boy, 351. 

"Thou Art, O God," 143. 
Morris, George P; 

Woodman, spare That Tree ! 335. 
Motherwell, William. 

Sing on, Blithe Bird, 105. 
Moultrie, J. 

Violets, 92. 

Nadaud, Gustave. 

Carcassonne, 173. 
Norton, Caroline Elizabeth. 

The King of Denmark's Ride, 18. 

O'Hara, Theodore. 

The Elvouac of the Dead, 213. 
O'Shaughnessy, Arthur. 

Ode, xxv. 

Payne, John Howard. 

Home, Sweet Home, 416. 



Phillips, Wendell. 

The Pilgrims, 185. 
Pierpont, John. 

Warren's Address, 391. 
Pitt, William, Earl of Chatham. 

On the American Revolution, 200. 

Rands, William Brighty. 

The Wonderful World, 308. 
Read, Thomas Buchanan. 

Sheridan's Ride, 355. 
Rogers, Samuel. 

An Epitaph on a Robin-Redbreast, 
116. 
Roosevelt, Theodore. 

Inaugural Address, 219. 
Rossetti, Christina G. 

Boats sail on the Rivers, 269. 

Consider, 144. 

The Stars, 78. 

The Swallow, 77. 

There's Nothing Like the Rose, 
92. 

These All wait upon Thee, 79. 

Who has seen the Wind? 267. 
Ruskin, John. 

The Society of Good Books, 175. 

Schiller, J. C. F. 

The Flag, 219. 
Scott, Sir Walter. 

Breathes there the Man, 365. 

Lochinvar, 26. 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief, 120. 

Melrose Abbey, 235. 

Parting of Douglas and Mar- 
mion, 42. 

Rebecca's Hymn, 145. 

Soldier, Rest! 210. 

Time, 163. 
Setoun, Gabriel. 

Romance, 107. 
Shakespeare, William. 

A Consolation, 171. 

Ariel's Song, 294. 



440 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



A Sea Dirge, 335. 

Blow, blow, Thou Winter Wind, 

240. 
Come, Seeling Night, 237. 
Cowards, 152. 
Farewell ! a Long Farewell to All 

My Greatness, 379. 
Good Name in Man and Woman, 

379- 
How Sweet the Moonlight, 238. 
"If To Do were as Easy," 151. 
I know a Bank, 99. 
Julius Caesar (Dialogue between 

Brutus and Cassius), 260. 
King Henry's Address to His 

Soldiers, 236. 
Mercy, 384. 
Music, 234. 
O Mickle is the Powerful Grace, 

89. 
Orpheus with His Lute, 348. 
"Our Revels now are Ended," 

250. 
Polonius' Advice to His Son, 394. 
Reputation, 158. 
Song — Under the Greenwood 

Tree, 334. 
Sweet are the Uses of Adversity, 

162. 
The Seven Ages of Man, 239. 
"Therefore doth Heaven Divide," 

179. 
"There is a Tide," 152. 
This was the Noblest Roman 

of Them All, 406. 
"'Tis a Common Proof," 152. 
To gild Refined Gold, 236. 
To-morrow and To-morrow, 238. 
Shelley, Percy Bysshe. 

As a Violet's Gentle Eye, 169. 
Autumn, 73. 

"Man who Man would Be," 170. 
Ode to the West Wind, 65. 
Ozymandias of Egypt, 160. 
The Cloud, 48. 



The Sensitive Plant, 84. 

The Sky Lark, 395. 

To Night, 241. 
Sherman, Frank Dempster. 

Daisies, 289. 

The Dewdrop, 267. 
Sill, Edward Rowland. 

Opportunity, 390. 
Smith, Samuel Francis. 

America, 410. 
Southey, Robert. 

The Inchcape Rock, 37. 
Stedman, Edmund Clarence. 

Going a-Nutting, 75. 

Kearny at Seven Pines, 207. 

The Flight of the Birds, 74. 
Stevenson, Robert Louis. 

At Morning, 134. 

Bed in Summer, 287. 

Before the Fire, 122. 

Foreign Children, 124. 

My Shadow, 294. 

Rain, 268. 

The Lamplighter, 121. 

The Land of Story Books, 298. 

The Swing, 286. 

The Unseen Playmate, 120. 

The Wind, 268. 

Where go the Boats? 113. 

Windy Nights, 296. 
Stoddard, Richard Henry. 

Abraham Lincoln, 197. 
Sumner, Charles. 

True Grandeur of Nations, 209. 
Swinburne, Algernon Charles. 

Etude Realiste, 230. 

White Butterflies, 78. 

Taylor, Ann. 

The Boy and the Sheep, 122. 
Taylor, Bayard. 

Storm Song, 57. 

Wind and Sea, 69. 
Taylor, Jane. 

Child's Thought of a Star, 279. 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



441 



I like Little Pussy, 266. 

The Violet, 304. 
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord. 

A Ballad of the Fleet, 11. 

A Farewell, 243. 

Break, Break, Break! 244. 

Crossing the Bar, 139. 

Early Spring, 96. 

Flower in the Crannied Wall, 
88. 

Little Birdie, 276. 

Now fades the Last Long Streak 
of Snow, 102. 

"O yet we Trust!" 144. 

Prayer, 155. 

See what a Lovely Shell! 61. 

Strong Son of God, 137. 

Sweet and Low, 314. 

The Brook, 386. 

The Bugle Song, 380. 

The Charge of the Light Brigade, 
376. 

The Eagle, 49. 

The Owl, 313. 

The Princess (Selection), 223. 

The Throstle, 95. 

There rolls the Deep, 87. 
Thackeray, William Makepeace. 

The Fall of the Curtain, 182. 
Thaxter, Celia. 

The Sandpiper, 60. 
Thomson, James. 

I care not, Fortune, 90. 
Thoreau, Henry D. 

The Forest, 96. 
Thurlow, Lord. 

To a Water Bird, 55. 

Van Dyke, Henry. 
A Snow Song, 70. 
If All the Skies, 171. 
The Angler's Reveille, 83. 

Wadsworth, Olive A. 

Over in the Meadow, 272. 



Washington, George. 

Farewell Address, 203. 
Waterman, Nixon. 

Johnny's History Lesson, 129. 
Webster, Daniel. 

First Bunker Hill Oration, 392, 

393- 

Liberty and Union, 395. 
White, Joseph Blanco. 

Night and Death, 242. 
Whittier, John Greenleaf. 

Barbara Frietchie, 345. 

Corn Song, 71. 

Snow-bound (Selection), 82. 

The Barefoot Boy, 329. 
Whitman, Walt. 

Captain! My Captain! 194. 
Two Veterans, 206. 

Wilder, John Nichols. 

Stand by the Flag, 216. 
Winthrop, Robert C. 

Washington, 198. 
Wither, George. 

In the Summer Time, 98. 
Wolcott, Julia Ann. 

Our Christmas, 188. 
Wolfe, Charles. 

The Burial of Sir John Moore, 
360. 
Wordsworth, William. 

1 wandered Lonely as a Cloud, 388. 
Lucy Gray, 45. 

My Heart leaps Up, 386. 
Ode on Intimations of Immor- 
tality, 233. 
Service, 177. 

The Education of Nature, 228. 
The Solitary Reaper, 227. 
To a Butterfly, 54. 

Young, Edward. 

Procrastination, 177. 

Unknown. 

A Rule for Bird's Nesters, 174. 



442 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



Falling Snow, 52. 
Giving Thanks, 184. 
Helen of Kirconnell, 23. 
Hitchen May-day Song, 180. 
Love of Country, 218. 
Love will find out the Way, 246. 
Old Christmas Returned, 187. 
Old Gaelic Lullaby, 275. 
Oxfordshire Children's May 

Song, 100. 
Robin Hood, 34. 
Santa Claus, 191. 
Sir Patrick Spens, 24. 
Sleep, Baby, Sleep, 268. 
The Ant and the Cricket, 177. 
The Golden Rule, 277. 
The Lamentation for Celin, ^^. 
The Lord of Butrago, 31. 
The Months, 101. 
The Two Dolls, 117. 
The World wants Men, 339. 
When Banners are Waving, 211. 



Nursery Rhymes. 

As I went through the Garden 

Gap, 286. 
Baa! Baa! Black Sheep! 271. 
Humpty Dumpty, 270. 
I have a Little Sister, 284. 
I saw a Ship a-Sailing, 283. 
Little Bo-Peep, 270. 
Little Boy Blue, 271. 
Little Jack Horner, 270. 
Little Nancy Etticoat, 285. 
Mistress Mary, 270. 
Peter Piper, 284. 
Rock-a-by, Baby, on the Tree 

Top, 272. 
Rock-a-by, Baby, Thy Cradle is 

Green, 272. 
Sing a Song of Sixpence, 282. 
The House that Jack Built, 284. 
Thirty White Horses, 286. 
This Little Pig went to Market 

272. 



FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) 352 

About to enter, fellow-citizens 220 

Abraham Lincoln is one of the marvels of history 196 

Across the narrow path we flit 60 

All are architects of Fate 361 

All service ranks the same with God 162 

All that tread the globe are but a handful 375 

All the world's a stage 239 

All things bright and beautiful 291 

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined 187 

America, gentlemen, is a noble object 203 

And what is so rare as a day in June 407 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky 80 

Art thou poor yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 148 

As a violet's gentle eye 169 

As I went through the garden gap 286 

Assyrian came down like a wolf, The 349 

At evening when I go to bed 289 

At evening when the lamp is lit 298 

At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay n 

At midnight in his guarded tent 40 

At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 159 

At the conclusion of the war 200 

At the door on summer evenings 305 

At the gate of old Granada ^^ 

Avoid dispute as much as possible 163 

A was an ant who seldom stood still 279 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down 362 

Baa, baa ! black sheep ! 271 

Baby's feet, like seashells pink, A 230 

Before the evening lamp is lit 122 

Behind him lay the gray Azores 36 

Behold her, single in the field 227 

Between the dark and the daylight 317 

443 



444 FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

Be useful where thou livest 169 

Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer 177 . 

Beyond the vague Atlantic deep 234 

Be you to others kind and true 277 



Bird of the wilderness. 



99 

Blessed is the man who hath not walked astray 135 

Blessings on thee, little man 329 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 240 

Boats sail on the rivers 269 

Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans 232 

Break, break, break 365 

Breaking waves dashed high, The 331 

Breathes there the man with soul so dead 365 

Burly, dozing humble-bee 56 

But pleasures are like poppies 232 

But 'tis a common proof 156 

By the flow of the inland river 365 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood 389 

Captain stood on the carronade, The 126 

Clouds are scudding across the moon, The 57 

Come, let us plant the apple tree 343 

Come, seeling night 237 

Consider the lilies of the field 144 

Cowards die many times before their deaths 152 

Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The 397 

Dark brown is the river 113 

Day ! 172 

Day is cold and dark and dreary, The 168 

Day is done and the darkness, The ^33 

Day returns and brings us, The 134 

Dear common flower that grow'st beside the way 89 

Does the snow fall at sea ? 70 

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds 293 

Down in a green and shady bed 304 

Down swept the chill wind 76 

Economy is the parent of integrity 157 

Eh ! oh ! eh ! What have I done 256 






FIRST LINE INDEX 445 

PAGE 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 215 

Every citizen owes to the country 221 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 85 

Fair little girl sat under a tree, A 112 

Fame of Washington stands apart, The 199 

Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness ! 379 

Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat. 139 

Fifty years ago Europe flattered herself 202 

Row down, cold rivulet, to the sea 243 

Flower in the crannied wall 88 

Fly away, fly away, over the sea 77 

Fly, white butterflies, out to sea 78 

For flowers that bloom about our feet 186 

For the hay and the corn and the wheat to be reaped 184 

Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, The 318 

Frugal snail with forecast of repose, The 172 

Full fathom five thy father lies 335 

Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree 307 

Give thy thoughts no tongue 394 

Give us, O give us the man who sings at his work ! 164 

God make my life a little light 147 

God moves in a mysterious way 142 

God of our fathers known of old 135 

Golden-rod is yellow, The 326 

Good-by, good-by to summer 277 

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord 379 

Good people all of every sort 127 

Good summer storm is a rain of riches, A 53 

Great wide, wonderful, beautiful world 308 

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass 103 

Green stood the tree with its leaves tender bright 302 

Groves were God's first temples, The 396 

Hail Columbia ! happy land 414 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 395 

Half a league, half a league 376 

Harp that once through Tara's halls, The 249 

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? 160 



446 FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

Have you ever heard the wind go " Yooooo" ? 315 

Have you read in the Talmud of old ? 405 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard 71 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound 404 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands 46 

He comes in the night ! He comes in the night ! 191 

He prayeth well who loveth well 321 

Here are sweet peas on tiptoe for a flight 93 

He that is down needs fear no fail 176 

He was the first man of the time 199 

His memory will be cherished 200 

His spots are the joy of the leopard 156 

Holly ! the holly ! oh, twine it with bay, The 192 

Honest heart that's free from a', The 165 

Honor to the memory of our Fathers 209 

How do you like to go up in a swing 286 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 208 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank 238 

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall 270 

Hush ! the waves are rolling in 275 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers 48 

I cannot, my lords, I will not join in congratulations 200 

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny 90 

I come from haunts of coot and hern 386 

If all the skies were sunshine 171 

If ever I see 104 

If I were going to raise a monument 185 

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright 235 

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do 151 

If you're told to do a thing 151 

I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep 284 

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me 294 

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows 99 

I like little pussy 266 

I live for those who love me 300 

111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey 167 

I love my country's pine-clad hills 218 

I'm an old man; I'm sixty years 173 

I met a little Elf-man, once 123 



FIRST LINE INDEX 447 

PAGE 

I met a traveler from an antique land 160 

I'm glad that I am not to-day 185 

In coming years when men seek to draw 211 

Innocent eyes not ours 79 

In Puritan New England a year had passed away 183 

In the world, as in the school 182 

In this country most young men are poor 170 

Into the sunshine 325 

In winter I get up at night 287 

I once had a sweet little doll, dears 116 

I saw a ship a-sailing 107 

I saw a ship a-sailing 283 

I saw you toss the kites on high 268 

I shot an arrow into the air 339 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he 19 

I stood tiptoe upon a little hill 68 

Is there for honest poverty 350 

Is this the time to be cloudy and sad 336 

I think of all the things at school 129 

It is a country full of evergreen trees 96 

It is not growing like a tree 372 

It is the hush of night, and all between 62 

It was an old, old, old, old lady 108 

It was a hundred years ago 367 

It was a hungry pussy cat 123 

It was fifty years ago 370 

It was roses, roses all the way. 247 

It was the schooner Hesperus 322 

I've plucked the berry from the bush 105 

I've watched you now a full half hour 54 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 388 

I wish I were where Helen lies 23 

January brings the snow 10 1 

Just honor to Washington can only be rendered 198 

Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the border side 14 

King sits in Dunfermline town, The 24 

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? 297 

Last sunbeam, The 206 



448 FIRST LIXE IXDEX 

PAGE 

Lazy sheep, pray tell me why I2 2 

Leaves are fading and falling, The 73 

Let it not be supposed that our object 392 

Let us thank God that we live in an age 393 

Lily has an air, The 92 

Lincoln was the purest, and the most generous 197 

Lincoln was worthy to be trusted 197 

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep 270 

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn 271 

Litde drop of dew 267 

Litde fairy comes at night, A 118 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow 124 

Litde Jack Horner sat in a corner 270 

Litde Nancy Etticoat 285 

Litde pool, in street or field apart, The 141 

Long as thine art shall love true love 216 

Lord, for the erring thought 186 

Man is born to expend every particle of strength, A 153 

Man is his own star, and the soul that can 157 

Man of great ability, pure patriotism, A 196 

Man that hath no music in himself, The 234 

Man will be what his most cherished feelings are, A 153 

Man who man would be 170 

Marmion stopped to bid adieu 42 

Melancholy days are come, The 59 

Memory of good deeds will ever stay 160 

Men ! whose boast it is that ye 217 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed 319 

Merry Christmas, Uncle ! God save you, A 258 

'Mid pleasures and palaces 416 

Mine eyes have seen the glory 415 

Minstrel-boy to war has gone, The 59 

Mistress Mary, quite contrary 270 

More clearly Washington's teaching, The 199 

More things are wrought by prayer 155 

Mountain and the squirrel, The 329 

Mowers weary and brown and blithe 67 

Muffled drum's sad roll has beat, The 213 

My country, 'tis of thee 4!° 



FIRST LINE INDEX 449 

PACE 

My fairest child, I have no song to give you 181 

My heart leaps up when I behold 386 

Mysterious Night ! when our first parents knew 242 

My tea is nearly ready, and the sun has left the sky 121 

Never before have men tried 219 

Nightingale that all day long, A 81 

No clouds in the morning sky 75 

No man is born into the world, whose work 157 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea 37 

No sun — no moon * 50 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 360 

Now came still evening on 55 

Now fades the last long streak of snow 102 

Now he who knows old Christmas 193 

Now Robin he is to Nottingham bound 34 

Now that the winter's gone 95 

Now the bright morning star 54 

Now the glories of the year 98 

Now this is the law of the Jungle 150 

O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done 194 

O'er the high and o'er the lowly 219 

Of all the dispositions and habits 203 

Of a' the airts the winds can blaw 225 

Oft I bad heard of Lucy Gray 45 

Oh ! a dainty plant is the ivy green 92 

Oh ho ! oh ho ! Pray, who can I be ? 51 

Oh ! hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight 120 

Oh, if the selfish knew how much they lost 179 

Oh ! say can you see, by the dawn's early light 411 

Oh, Washington ! thou hero, patriot, sage 199 

Oh what a glory doth this world put on 87 

Old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The 28 

O may I join the choir invisible 158 

O melancholy bird ! a winter's day 55 

O mickle is the powerful grace that lies 89 

Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember 42 

Once more into the breach, dear friends 236 

Once more the Heavenly Power 96 

2G 



450 FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

One by one the sands are flowing 363 

On Linden when the sun is low 378 

Only happiness a brave man ever troubled himself about, The 155 

Only things in which we can be said, The 178 

On the green banks of Shannon 245 

Orpheus with his lute made trees 348 

O thou young man, the air of heaven is soft 254 

Our band is few but true and tried 357 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting 233 

Our revels now are ended 250 

Over in the meadow 272 

Over the mountains 246 

Over the river and through the woods 299 

O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being 65 

Owl and the Pussy Cat went to sea, The 303 

O yet we trust that somehow, good 144 

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers 284 

Poetry of earth is never dead, The 68 

Preparations of a snowstorm are, The 58 

President Lincoln was walking with a friend 197 

Purest treasure mortal times afford, The 158 

Pure, the bright, the beautiful, The 161 

Quality of mercy is not strained, The •.- 384 

Rain is raining all around, The 268 

Remember us poor mayers all ! 180 

Rest is not quitting the busy career 157 

Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose 303 

Robin and the red-breast, The 174 

Robins in the tree top 309 

Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top 272 

Rock-a-by, baby, thy cradle is green 272 

Rock-a-by Lady from Hush-a-by Street, The 291 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 64 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 374 

Sea is a jovial comrade, The 69 

See the pretty snowfiakes 5 2 



FIRST LINE INDEX 



451 



PACE 

See what a lovely shell 61 

Sensitive plant in the garden grew, A 84 

Serene I fold my hands and wait 149 

Shades of night were falling fast, The 337 

Shed no tear ! O shed no tear ! 164 

She stood breast-high amid the corn 226 

Ships that pass in the night 243 

Silly young cricket, accustomed to sing, A 177 

Sing a song of sixpence 282 

Sir, we are not weak 205 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 268 

Small service is true service 177 

Snow had begun in the gloaming 352 

So here hath been dawning 348 

Soldier rest ! thy warfare o'er 210 

So that soldierly legend is still on its journey 207 

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 388 

Spacious firmament on high, The 359 

Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf 127 

Splendor falls on castle walls, The 380 

Spring is coming, spring is coming 100 

Stand by the flag ! Its stars like meteors gleaming 216 

Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves ! 391 

Stop, stop, pretty water 297 

Strong son ^f God, immortal love 137 

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief 401 

Summer is coming, summer is coming 95 

Sunset and evening star 139 

Sun was shining on the sea, The 130 

Sweet and low, sweet and low 314 

Sweet are the uses of adversity 162 

Sweet bird that sing'st away the early hours 100 

Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright 176 

Swiftly, swiftly, o'er the western wave 241 

Teach me, Father, how to go 106 

Teach me, my God and King 134 

Tell me not in mournful numbers 341 

That you have wronged me, doth appear 260 

Then gently scan your brother man 165 



452 FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket 106 

Therefore doth heaven divide 179 

There is a destiny that makes us brothers 140 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods 88 

There is a tide in the affairs of men 152 

There is something in the Autumn 66 

There rolls the deep where grew the tree 87 

There's a merry brown thrush 301 

There's a stir among the trees 190 

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover 290 

There went a rider on a roan , 114 

There was a sound of revelry by night 381 

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good 146 

They say that God lives very high 141 

Thing of beauty is a joy forever, A 230 

Thirty white horses upon a red hill 286 

This I beheld or dreamed it in a dream 390- 

This is the forest primeval 242 

This is the house that Jack built 284 

This is the ship of pearl which poets feign 384 

This is the song the brown thrush flings 83 

This little pig went to market 272 

This man whose homely face you look upon 197 

This was the noblest Roman of them all 406 

Thou art, O God ! the life and light 143 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew 342 

Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is 1 251 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State 383 

Thoughtful mind when it sees a nation's flag, A 214 

Three little bugs in a basket 224 

Three years she grew in sun and shade 228 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 70 

'Tis a dull sight to see the year dying 248 

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell in 

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily 236 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow 238 

To-whit, to-whit, to-whee ! 287 

Tread lightly here, for here, 'tis said 116 

True worth is in being, not seeming 354 

'Twas the night before Christmas 311 



FIRST LINE INDEX 453 

PACE 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star 279 

Two little dolls, so I've been told 117 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 327 

Under the green hedges after the snow 92 

Under the greenwood tree 334 

Under the providence of God, he was 197 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 84 

Up from the meadows rich with corn 345 

Up from the South at break of day 355 

Violet ! sweet violet ! 103 

Voice of mankind shall ascend in acclaim, The 199 

Warm sun is failing, The 73 

Washington is the mightiest name on earth 199 

Washington is to my mind the purest figure 199 

We are the music makers xxv 

We cannot know whom we would 175 

We can win no laurels in a war for independence 393 

We didn't have much of a Christmas 188 

Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight 253 

Welcome, wild Northeaster 50 

We were crowded in the cabin 313 

What constitutes a state ? 222 

What does little birdie say 276 

What do the stars do ? 78 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep? 209 

When all Thy mercies, O my God ! 138 

When banners are waving 211 

Whence came you, and whither are you bound? 264 

When children are playing alone 120 

When Earth's last picture is painted 249 

Whenever the moon and stars are set 296 

When Freedom from her mountain height 412 

When God's warm justice is revealed 91 

When I consider how my light is spent 403 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 171 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved 145 

When I was a beggarly boy 340 



454 FIRST LINE INDEX 

PAGE 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold 393 

When the cats run home, and the light is come 313 

When the Norn-mother saw the whirlwind hour 195 

Where did you come from, baby dear ? 276 

Where may the wearied eye repose ? 200 

Where the bee sucks, there suck 1 294 

Where the pools are bright and deep 86 

Whither away, Robin ? 74 

Whither 'midst falling dew 371 

Who has seen the wind ? 267 

Who would true valor see 167 

Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall ? 163 

Wind came up out of the sea, A 373 

Woman's cause is man's, The 223 

Woodman, spare that tree 335 

Word was brought to the Danish king 18 

World wants men, The 339 

Worn and footsore was the Prophet 154 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 295 

Year's at the spring, The 372 

Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true 94 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven 79 

Yet one smile, more departing, distant sun ! 59 

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes no 

You know we French stormed Ratisbon 21 

Your horse is faint, my king 31 



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